


Home Is Behind

by SassyTeaSnob



Series: Home Is Behind [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Dalish Inquisitor, Depiction of Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Language, MGiT, Mabari, Mabari Puppies, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Mutual Pining, Needs more history shit, OC is a History Nerd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Past Rape/Non-con, Pop-culture refs everywhere, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, happy ending guarenteed- eventually, high levels of sass, oc isn't the inquisitor, pop-culture references, radiation poisoning sucks, redcliffe sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 117,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyTeaSnob/pseuds/SassyTeaSnob
Summary: The Breach opens, rifts form and people burned and barely alive fall through, Fenris knows the worst is yet to come.When Sophie falls to her knees in the wilderness, far from home after orders to evacuate, she knows she's in trouble.From The Wounded Coast to Haven and onwards they journey, through landslide, magic, and storms. Together.Home is behind, the world ahead.
Relationships: Fenris/Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Home Is Behind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981754
Comments: 319
Kudos: 270





	1. A Thousand Suns

**Author's Note:**

> A world of credit to the wonderful folks that have put up with my while writing this mammoth project.  
> Kaif, Amata, Fox, Enigmalea and everyone else at The Hanged Man, thank you so much. Wouldn't be here without you fellow crazy persons. Anyone else, Hi I'm Cas, you can find me at weird-in-thedas on Tumblr hwere I'll be posting updates, waffling and my attempts at art.
> 
> To everyone that clicked in, hello! Welcome! Enjoy! This is not a fluffy story. Thedas is a violent, hard world compared to our own and the point of Modern Character in [Blank] stories to me has always been what's different, what's the same and what it takes to adapt. Because of this, warning for violence, awfulness, foul language, elements of dub-con, historical grossness, various kinds of discrimination, and Fenris being, well.... Fenris.
> 
> But it's not all bad. There's puppies! Cookies. Pretty girls. Fenris.
> 
> Have fun

Evening falls, the fading light leeching colour from the grey landscape. With it comes a chill that beckons Fenris to the fire crackling behind him, to the voices of Starkhaven soldiers talking and laughing. A month into their latest hunt, and finally they’ve tracked down the foul snake leading one of the larger bands of slavers still working in the Free Marches. And not a moment too soon. Spring will soon arrive, and with it, easier travel. More folk on the road. More opportunities for slaver filth to snatch innocents like a falcon snatches prey.

Sighing, Fenris rubs at the bridge of his nose, turning away from the deepening night. Now he’s getting morose. If anything, he should be proud, he thinks, slipping through a pair of tents to rejoin the group seated on old logs and folded cloaks. In the span of less than a year, these men and women have wiped the largest groups of slavers off the map, freeing more innocents than he’s cared to count. Soon he’ll be able to move further north, continue his hunting closer to their home.

The squad’s captain, tragically named Winnifred offers Fenris a watered down cup of wine and a plate for the meal cooking on the coals, flat-bread on smooth rocks, rabbits turning on a spit, fat sizzling as it drips down. A welcome change from hardtack, dried meat and aged cheese.

“Nothing out there?” Winnifred asks as he sits. She’s not especially young, years in the sun weathering her warm brown skin, giving her fine wrinkles around her eyes that crinkle whenever she laughs. Which is often.

Fenris shakes his head.

“Not that I can see. Your scouts would have better range,” He answers, sipping the wine and barely disguising a grunt of distaste. Southern wines were still a disappointment, Winnifred chuckles.

“So they do. Valeren’s moving as predicted, bringing his people back to base.” Her lips twist, looking over the chattering soldiers around them. “You still think the plan will work, lad?” Winnifred asks quiet.

Fenris takes another sip of weak wine. “I do not know. Valeran, like the rest of his kind, is arrogant, but cunning. If we are to take him, we will have to out manoeuvre him.”

“Aye.” Winnifred says darkly. “And we have volunteers. I’ll send them off to slip into the slaver camps next evening,” She grins, all teeth. “We’ll catch the bastard, serah. Of that we can be sure.”

Fenris gives a noncommittal grunt and Winnifred turns away. Were he alone, he’d already be closing in on the mage slaver, ready to strike the head from the entire group in one swift blow. But, as Sebastian had every so delicately put it, Fenris would be a lone wolf before a strong and well rested pack. Better to hunt with on of his own. And as the Crowned Prince insisted on paying him for his work, it is only prudent to teach the trade to the armed and ready soldiers travelling with him. A slower pace is a small price for effective work, and in the last year alone, the number of slavers struck from Thedas has easily doubled.

Pulling away from his thoughts, Fenris lets the easy conversation of the soldiers flow over him. Old Gossip, a ruddy cheeked soldier, Callum, recounting something from his childhood with wide gestures, the Captain and her lieutenant Gerhardt talking logistics. It’s no cheerful game of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, quieter for the lack of Isabela’s throaty laugh, Varric’s stories, Hawke’s musical voice as she lost another hand. Rolling the wine cup between his hands, Fenris puts those memories away. Here and not, it isn’t so bad. It’s peaceful.

Of course, it does not last.

The hair on his neck stands on end and out of the corner of his eye he sees it, a distant flare of sickly green light, high and far to the south. The camp falls silent as it grows, flaring bright like a distant sunrise. Fenris stands, keen ears catching the cries of birds and a low rumble that builds into a roar. Fenris grits his teeth. Fasta vas. Before he can speak the shock wave hits the camp like a crashing wave. It slams into Fenris’ chest, sending him to his knees, ears ringing.

“Maker’s breath!” Someone- Maeve, a short young woman that preferred an axe with her shield- shouts. “Above us!” Fenris looks up. The night sky, clear before, now roiled with dark clouds, flickering with green lightning as it rolled further north. Fenris’ stomach lurches. He knows that shade, the prickly feeling along the lyrium branded into his skin. He stands, watching with growing horror as the sky spits a smoky green glob downward.

“What is that?” Winnifred asks, climbing to her feet.

“I…” Fenris watches another green haze fall from the sky. “I don’t know,: He grasps the hilt of his sword, the weight reassuring as he tracks the falling mass. Looks like it would land nearby, close enough to check. “Nothing good.”

The flickering glow of fade green beckons them down the easy slope. Cold, crisp grass rustle beneath Fenris’ bare feet, crunch beneath the boots of the soldiers following him, their soft breaths loud in his ears. Ahead comes the discordant sound, a humming like fingers one the rim of a wine glass, and beneath the crystalline fracture hovering several feet off the ground, shadowy figures shift and sway in the eerie green light. Fenris pauses with a sigh. Of course there would be demons.

He lifts a hand, pauses at the bottom of the hill, and the three soldiers at his back fall into line beside him.

“Are they-?” Callum breathes, words misting in the cold night air. He towers over Fenris, broad with big freckled hands that grip his war axe tight.

“Demons. Yes.” Fenris says.

“How did they get here?” Aleck asks, the eldest of the three and the quietest, skin like red clay, eyes dark as ink and surprisingly slender for a man.

“You saw what happened!” Maeve hisses, jerking a thumb upwards at the flickering clouds. Aleck sighs, sounding as frustrated as Fenris feels.

“Even so, they are here.” He snaps, readying his sword. Beneath the eerie glow, he counts three shades and a wrath demon. It’s not too bad, easy if the three with him keep their heads. Their eyes are on him, expectant and it chafes. “Stay together,” Fenris says, turning his focus back to the demons. “And strike fast.”

“Yes, ser.” The three answer, drawing their weapons. Rolling his shoulders, Fenris advances, reaching for the underlying hum of lyrium in his skin. It flares to life, a sharp hot hurt he rides forward, bringing his blade to bear. It cares an angry line across the side of the wrath demon, it’s shriek splitting the night. The shades echo the cry, extending taloned limbs, howling in challenge. He has their attention. Good. Opening given, the three soldiers strike the distracted shades. Shifting his weight, pained shrieks ringing in his ears, Fenris bares his teeth at the flaming wrath demon and feints to one side. The demon is fast, spitting fire. Fenris is faster, weaving through the cold grass striking at any opening he’s given. He wears it down, carving into it’s form with heavy swings, the stink of ichor blurring with scorched grass until a final lunge impales the creature on his sword. With a satisfied snarl, Fenris pulls the blade free, and turns to aid the other three. There’s little need. Maeve shouts, cleaving the last shade’s head from it’s shoulders. It crumbles into nothing, and she grins fierce and proud at her two fellows. Fenris allows himself a moment of quiet pride.

No injuries that he can see, just ichor smeared across their faces visible in the eerie light. Callum splutters, pawing at his mouth and Aleck laughs.

“You’re not supposed to swallow it!” Maeve says. Fenris smirks, turning away to study the glowing shape in the air. They’d come so far in the months he’s fought beside them, growing in confidence, in cunning. Odd as it may be to admit, he is rather fond of the three circling the grass, following his lead, checking for signs on the hard cold ground. Above them the crack in the air lets out a discordant note.

“You think any more will come?” Aleck asks, voice low.

“I wouldn’t know.” Fenris says, eyeing the shifting facets.

Aleck shudders beside him. “Well,” He says looking to wear Callum rubs ichor from Maeve’s face with a smile. “At least it’s far from any town.”

Fenris’ reply is cut off by a sharp cracking sound. His hair stands on end and he scrambles back as the sound grows in volume, shaking through his chest. Fenris grabs Aleck by his leathers and pulls the man back as the air splits into a haze of green. Heat hits Fenris like a wave, scorching his lungs, carrying with it the stink of smoke and burning flesh. They dive into the grass and from behind comes the sound of screams. Fenris twists, looking over his shoulder. There’s flame, shadowed figures running, falling rubble, framed by the fade green haze before it contracts, returning into the crystalline tear hovering above the ground. Silence, broken only by the panicked breaths of the three soldiers and Fenris’ heart pounding in his ears.

Callum groans from Fenris’ left. “What the blazes was that?” He grunts as he climbs to his feet.

“No idea.” Fenris growls, pushing to his feet. As he moves, the skin on the back of his neck, his arms pull painfully, hot as if sunburned. He gingerly touches his fingers to his ears and winces at the answering shock of pain. His leather armour creaks, uncomfortably hot but cooling in the chill night air. He swallows, pulling in a slow breath that hurts. He glowers at the green tear, scanning below it, frowning at the cracked rock and rubble scattered over the grass.

“Maker…” Aleck whispers, pointing. In the dark, over a dozen feet away, a figure collapses into the grass. Cursing, Fenris readies his sword, glancing at the other three. Their raise the weapons and advance. Stepping carefully through the grass, now dry, burned, crunching beneath their feet, Fenris peers into the gloom. A soft breeze makes the grass sway and brings a foul acrid scent, mingled with something familiar; charcoaled meat with a sickly metallic tang like hot steel in a forge. Kaffas.

Behind him, Maeve gags. “What’s that stench?”

“Burning flesh.” Fenris answers. Lowering his weapon, he makes no effort to conceal his approach and the smell grows strong enough to taste. He sees the origin now, a huddled shape bend over on the ground.

“Dragon fire?” Callum asks.

“From where?” Maeve snaps. “Andraste’s tits, if it were a dragon, we’d be dead.” A fire-starter strikes and a torch is lit, Aleck holding it high to illuminate the area.

Every inch of the poor figure is black, smoke rising from scorched clothing, hair and flesh. An adult by their size. Fenris sees a round ear, somehow still pink and recognisable beside a face blackened into an agonising mask, head bent towards a terribly small bundle in their arms. Fenris clenches his jaw, sets aside the growing horror that comes with seeing, ignores the sympathetic prickle of pain along the lyrium carved into his skin.

The burned figure lets out a rattling sigh and Fenris jerks back. Maeve gives a little cry, and the torch wavers in Aleck’s hand.

“They’re alive!” Callum says. Fenris shudders.

“Barely.” He says, edging closer, sinking to one knee beside the wretch. He steels himself, tentatively reaches out, “Can you hear us?” The figure shudders, head lifting and Fenris gets a glimpse before Aleck drops the torch wit a yelp. An open mouth, skin falling away from muscle, dust and soot and eyes wide an empty. Fenris recoils, bile rising to his throat. In the weak green light, he sees the figure reach for him and he forces himself to stay in place, heart hammering in his chest.

Someone picks up the torch. They - she Fenris guesses - doesn’t react to the light, just leans towards the sound of movement.

“P-please…” She rasps, barely a whisper. “Help.” Her lips crack as she speaks.

Fenris swallows, and takes her hand. “We will.” He says. Her skin is hot, splitting as she takes hold of his fingers. But what could they do? What could heal this? He licks his lips, glances behind him. “Water, someone-”

“Here, serah,” Callum crouches by the woman, pale eyes big as he uncorks his waterskin. “You’re safe now. We’re soldiers, from Starkhaven.”

“S-soldiers?” The woman’s grip tights and something slick and far too warm oozes onto Fenris’ fingers. She lists towards Callum and Maeve kneels to hold her steady. They pair look imploringly at Fenris, their expressions crumbling when he shakes his head.

“You have nothing to fear.” He says, gently as he can. “We have water.” Callum lifts the waterskin to her lips and she drinks, weakly swallowing, most dribbling down her chin. After a moment she pulls away dropping Fenris’ hand.

“Please,” she lifts the bundle cradled against her chest. “My baby,” A heavy certainty settles over Fenris as the woman fumbles with the burned wrappings. Inside, an infant, skin red and blistered lay unmoving. “Help my baby, help him, please…” Fenris glances at Callum who nods, corking the water before accepting the lifeless bundle.

“We’ll do all we can, mistress,” Marve says gently. The woman’s mouth stretches into a ruined smile.

“Th-thank you, I-I…” Her breath catches and with a slow rasp, her head droops. A last exhale rattles in her chest and she goes still. Fenris sighs, bowing his head. A mercy, her pain over.

“M-maker’s mercy.” Aleck mutters. “What now?” Fenris doesn’t need to lift his head to know the three now looked to him for a decision. It chafes, and he breathes around it considering the practicalities. The ground is too cold and hard for a burial, and Winnifred may want a look herself at the grisly remains. The dead woman’s blind smile swims into Fenris’ mind, bringing with it a helplessness that weighs heavy on his shoulders. No. There was nothing he could have done.

Sighing, Fenris stands.

“A cloak from one of you.” He says. “We’ll carry them to camp. And then a pyre.”

The three salute. “Aye, ser.” They say and get to work, Callum laying out his cloak for the burned pair. The big lad insists on carrying them himself, quietly reciting the chant as they mount the hill, retracing their steps to camp.

Winnifred has bodies of her own, un-urned but one crushed, their chest a collapsed ruin of bone and blood, the other broken as if thrown like a doll. She eyes the pair Callum lays with the others, touching her fingers to the babe’s swaddling as Fenris gives his account.

“We found ours dead.” She says quietly, standing, and fishes something sleek from a pouch at her belt. “Found this with them.” The object is flat, narrow, one side black and glossy like smooth obsidian, the rest looked like metal, but felt warm and light, almost delicate in his grin. Small ridges stood out along the side that gave way as Fenris pressed his fingers along them. The glossy side blinked, going a bright brilliant white before blacking out again. He frowns. Magic? No, it didn’t pull at the lyrium brands. Then what?

“If there’s people at two…” He starts.

“There’s likely to be more.” Winnifred finishes with a sigh. “Maker guide them, the poor bastards.”

Soon the pyre is set alight, a prayer offered for the dead, and Fenris turns over the strange object in his hands.

This is no small event, Fenris thinks, turning his gaze to the pyre, the bodies now hidden by flickering flame. A beginning, with the worst yet to come.

◆

Sophie can’t breathe. On the ground, cold hard earth offers no kindness as she coughs and splutters on her hands and knees. All she tastes is dust and the metallic tang of fear. Or was that blood? Might be. Her head throbs, pounds like she spent the night downing cheap vodka and she’s sure her head’s bleeding. In the dark, someone coughs beside her, breath rattling in their chest in a sickly way. She squints, tries to remember, hard grip on her arm, pounding feet as they ran, lungs burning with the effort. Nick? No, Nathan. Ten am. Into to Life Drawing on Wednesday. Bright kid, always early, asks her how she is. Sophie shakes her head. Focus.

They’re alive. That’s the good news. How though… She isn’t sure. Sophie spits, clearing out her mouth, blinking her eyes against the grit. They’re outside, she can tell that from the cold and clean air and the scraggly grass beneath her hands. How? She straightens, balancing on her knees, wobbling as the weight of her bag pulls her to the left. Shrugging it off, she sets it down, mindful of the bow case strapped to the side, and takes off her grimy glasses. They were inside, footsteps echoing off laminate and concrete, squinting as the lights flickered in and out. So how the fuck did they get outside?

“Are we-?” Nathan cuts off with a nasty cough. She can see him now, a dark shape rolling onto his front, shoulders shaking. “Are we safe?”

“Uh,” Sophie sits on her booted feet. Patchy grass, cold dirt, and darker silhouettes barely visible in the light of a moon peeking through the clouds. No lights in the distance. Shit.. “Mmmmmmmmmmmaybe?”

“What do you mean maybe?” Nathan coughs again, a splutters phlegm sound that scrapes against her nerves.

“I mean I have no fu-“ Sophie cuts herself off, forcing her hands to unclench around her glasses. “I don’t now.” She twists, peering into the dark. No fire, no looming cloud, no heat, or screams, and dammit it was cold. “How the hell did we get here?”

“We ran.”

Sophie closes her eyes and reigns in the prickle off frustration. “No shit. But from that stairwell at ten am, to the middle of nowhere at night? I dunno about you, mate but I’m no marathon runner.” She says jabbing her thick thighs. Nevermind she did spend her weekends running around like a lunatic. Nathan turns his head, little more than a dark silhouette against ground. In her mind she sees his face, missing it’s usual smile, light brown skin paler for all the dust and grit covering them both.

He sighs. “Not really. Shit.” He sits up while Sophie jams her glasses on her head and shrugs off her backpack. “Shit. We’re the hell are we?”

“Hell if I know.” Somewhere in the front pocket Sophie’s stashed her phone in a protective case- Thank you, aunt Karina - and if they’re lucky, it might give them an answer. At least light to see by. Opening the case, she jabs at the home button. The screen lights up, binding bright and Sophie lets out a breath. That mean the rest of her tech might have survived. Yay. Swiping at the screen, she dismisses the emergency notice and checks the signal. Nothing.

“Anything?” Nathan asks. He has his own phone, dark in his hands. “Mine’s broken. Screen’s fu- I mean, It’s damaged.”

“You can swear, Nathan, we’re not in class.” Sophie says with a sigh and holds out her device. “No signal. Kinda expected.” She shuts the phone off, stashes it away and digs around for the the survival torch Karina also gave gave her. Breath. Find your centre, stay grounded and breathe.

“Shit. I was hoping it was... I mean... Did it happen?” Nathan shifts towards her. Sophie flicks the torch on, casting a cool white light between them. She does not meet his eyes.

“I don’t know.” The metal handle of the torch is textured steel, unyielding and comforting in her hands as she thinks back. Stairs, steep and narrow, painted concrete, flickering lights, luminescent arrows pointing the way deeper. “Down the stairs, running, lights started going, things fell,”

“Something hit your head.” Nathan says, eyeing her hairline. That would explain the pain. And the sudden worrying blank in her memories. Nathan rubbed at his forehead. “You stumbled, so I grabbed your arm. Things went dark. And then...” He frowns. “I wanna say I saw something green but, that doesn’t make any sense. We ended up here.”

“Right.” Sophie gingerly walks her fingers up her forehead, finding tacky blood. A lot of it. A little further past her hairline is the source, fingers graining over a jagged gash, triggering a jolt of pain. She hisses, jerking her hand away.

“Head alright?” Nathan asks. He’s opened his bag, rummaging paused to lean towards her.

“Not really. Anything on your end?”

“Nah,” Nathan says with a brief grin. “Got out lucky, I think. Got some stuff in here, might help.” Sophie makes a noncommittal sound, shivering despite her leather jacket.

“We can’t stay here,” She says, lifting the light and scanning around them. “We need some kind of shelter, a layer between us and the ground.”

“And the wind.” Nathan says, head popping free from the neckline of a thick looking hoodie. “Think you can stand.”

“Yeah. Had my ass kicked worse by nerds with sticks.” Sophie says with a forced grin. Were Dad’s troupe still kicking? Her Dad? No. Wonder later. Survive now. Still, standing takes effort, legs burning with effort, the ground swaying precariously until she straightens.

“Why the hell were you fighting with people with sticks?” Nathan asks, eyeing her and handing Sophie her backpack with a surprised grunt.

“For fun and education.”

“No kidding?” Nathan says with a grin. “And that living history stuff you brought up?”

“Same group.” Sophie shoulders her bag with a groan. “Come on. Before it gets colder.”

Guided by Sophie’s torch, the pair start walking down a gradual slope, making their way through a maze of craggy rock and stiff grass. Stumbling down a hill, they find a covered alcove under a bridge of weathered stone, little more than a gap with a dusty floor and no sign of nesting animals. Sophie lays down a hoodie for sitting and together they sort through their supplies. Beyond the normal detritus of art student gear, sketchbook, papers, pens, pencils and crumbling charcoal, they have a surprisingly decent amount of supplies.

“Dad’s big into the prepper shit,” Nathan says, piling protein bars and bags of trail mix together with tins of beans. “Insists I carry a bugout bag.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong.” Sophie answers. Beside the food and water bottles with filters, he boasts a first aid kit, an emergency blanket, hammock, wire saw, and a folded knife that would definitely be considered a concealed weapon, and a change of clothes. Sophie’s own pile of squished snack and chocolate bars, metal water bottle and range uniform seems sad in comparison were it not for her bow. Unzipping her case, she lifts up the unstrung composite and runs her fingers over the lacquered wood, horn and sinew, checking for cracks under Nathan’s bright light. He lets out a long low whistle.

“Shit, is that thing real?”

“Pretty damn.” Sophie gingerly flexes the limbs. No weird creaks. Thank fuck. She lays it down, checking over her arrows, set up for targets but good enough for small game like rabbits or whatever might be lurking around. “Arrows are good too,” she announces, flashing Nathan a grin.

“Okay so you’re Katniss.” He says.

“Pfft,” Sophie rolls her eyes, zipping up her case, checking the pockets for the rest of her gear. “She wishes.” In her head, she checks off the mental list. Synthetic cord for replacement strings, a few thumb rings, a pair of utility knives to deal with anything that needed cutting, plastic fletching and glue. She pulls out the larger of her two knives. It was the first her Dad gave her, when she wanted to be just like him. She bites the inside of her cheek. She would not think about her Dad. Her family. Her friends. Later. Survive now.

“You think...” Nathan swallows. “You think our folks are okay?” He asks, giving her an imploring look. Sophie pauses and pops out some paracetamol from a blister pack, hands shaking.

“I don’t know.” She says, gently as she can, and hands Nathan a tablet. “I know we’re alive. I know that going downhill will help us find water which hopefully will lead to people or some kind of food. I know you’re a smart guy and a fast learner.” Twisting off the cap of her water bottle, Sophie takes the tablet and downs it with a sip of cold water. “Anything else doesn’t matter.”

After tending to their cuts and grazes, they pack up and huddle beneath a thermal blanket. Nathan falls asleep on her shoulder, but Sophie... Sophie’s mind races, picking over possibilities, choices, things she’ll have to remember in the days ahead if they’re going to get through this. Anything to not think of home.

Morning comes and it is unkind.

Laughter, male, female, cruel and pleased jolts Sophie awake. Standing above them are three people in shades of brown and grey, leather and cloth, a splash of red at each of their throats, sunlight glinting or hair, metal and the edge of their weapons. Those aren’t HEMA approved. Too sharp, too dangerous. The three smile down at her and Sophie thinks of crocodiles.

“Well,” One says, male, tall and lean, skin tanned a nutty brown by the sun, eyes pale, scars pulling at his lips at he smiles. Confident, but he has every right to be. Panic floods Sophie’s system. They’re trapped, Nathan tensed beside her. Please don’t do anything stupid. He’s a good kid, young, barely twenty. She has to protect him. The man shows teeth as he eyes them. “Haven’t we found a prize?” His accent is broad, like Cockney without the charm. He glances at the others, a tall pale woman, sunlight glinting off her short cropped hair, the other built like a keg on legs with tawny, pitted skin. Where the fuck was she? The man jerks his chin. “Livia, Mihael, let’s get a look at ‘em in the light.” Fuck.

Nathan starts to scramble, pushing at the rock at his back to stand. Sophie… Can’t. Her legs won’t move. They’re numb from sleep.

“The fuck are you doing?” Nathan shouts and Livia backhands him, grabs him by the hair and arm and throws him out of the alcove.

“No,” Mihael’s hands pull Sophie to her feet, hauling her up by the arms and forcing her to stumble, the stink of leather and sweat and unwashed flesh hitting her nose. No deodorant, no soap. He hasn’t bathed in days. Too real. Focus. “Nathan, don’t fight!” Survive now. Let them think you’re helpless. Find an opening later. “Just go!” Sophie stumbles into the painfully bright sunlight, stumbles, and fins the edge of a blade against her throat. This is real. Sophie goes cold. Gods help them.

“Get off me!” Feet scuffle against earth and stone. Livia laughs and there’s a thump, the wheeze of someone gasping for breath. Mihael laughs against Sophie’s ear.

“Smart thing, aren’t ya?” He says, tapping the flat of his blad against her chin. “He’d better listen or he’ll get hurt, poor lad.”

“D-don’t” Sophie blinks until she can see. Nathan’s on the ground, gasping, Livia standing over him with a ferocious smile. “He’s a kid.” She can’t let them hurt him. He has family.

“Sweet lad’s got some fight, Tanner.” Livia croons, ruffling Nathan’s hair before taking a fistful and jerking Nathan upright on his knees, pressing a knife to his face. “Behave, boy or I’ll carve you up pretty.”

The smiling man, Tanner, chuckles darkly, pats Livia on the shoulder. “Easy, Liv. We were all young and foolish once. Don’t risk your life, lad.” He says eyeing the young man before turning his attention on Sophie. “Nice face under all that blood and dirt. Fine eyes. And smart, hmm?” He grins, shows crooked teeth. Striding over uneven ground, he drags his graze down, tugs at her shirt, a light green sweater over a tank. Tanner whistles, cupping her chest, and Sophie bites down a whimper, clenching her fists. Survive. “Very fine.” Tanner muses. “You could be worth a lot if you behave.” He says, watching her face. Sophie glares back. She could put her fist through his face and not feel a bit of regret. No. Survive now. Fight later. Breathe. She drops her gaze, feigns defeat, breathes a sight of relief as the knife is pulled from her neck. “Good girl.” Tanner says, patting her cheek.

“The fuck do you want with us?” Nathan yells. He pulls at Livia’s hands until she stomps at his leg with a snarl. “What do you get from this?”

“Coin,” Tanner answers. “What else?” Nathan goes pale under his tan, gaze flicking to Sophie. She shakes her head, mouths the word “no”. They have no chance. Later. She hopes. Nathan grits his teeth, angry, defiant and bows his head, jaw clenched. “There you go. Live now, die later.” Tanner turns, smile gone. “Tie em up and grab their bags. If they run, cut a finger off. They’ll learn.”


	2. Captive

Chapter 2

They walk, hands bound with scratchy rope looped around their necks. Mihael holds the ends like a pair of leashes as he walks just behind, every step a reminder of their predicament. Tanner and Livia carry their bags, talk, laugh as they lead them through a maze of grey stone and gravel, slowly easing further and further down.

Through a thick fog of terror, Sophie watches and thinks. Slavers. Practised and comfortable with violence. It’s all Modern English, old fashioned and coarse, but easy to understand and follow. Mostly. Sophie expected Middle English from the way they dressed, a Living History nerds dream. Nothing modern, all laces, buckles and simple buttons. Boiled leather cuirasses over stiff densely stitched coats.Her Dad had a replica of one, what did he call it? Jack of plate: canvas over bits of steel, cheaper and less effective than full plate, but quieter, more flexible.

And Da joked his living history hobby isn’t useful. But she can’t think about him. Not him, not the fear twisting through her gut like a pissed off snake. Her throbbing head, the cold, her aching legs. Focus. Breathe. She can’t do shit if she’s freaking out. Now and then, Nathan peers back over his shoulders, eyes questioning. He wants a plan. Some kind of course of action. _You and I both._ There’s no plan while they’re leashed to experienced, armed, armoured men and women with bound hands. And on top of that is another problem: Where the hell were they?

Even with the sun out it was still cold, the wind biting, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and salt. As that sea smell grew strong, they were joined by more men and women with victims on rope leads, slipping out of the grey rock and green scrub. Twenty in all, eleven slavers, nine captives including one boy clinging to his mother’s hand, dirt covered face streaked with tears. _Assholes._ Their captors herded them together like a flock of sheep and lead them down, south, away from the mountains in the north. The further they go, the stronger that salt becomes until Sophie catches sight of a glittering band of blue melting into the sky. And further, high, high in the air, a distant smear of green. Sophie’s heart jumps in her chest. She knows that shade. While she was running with Nathan, blood and fear coppery in her mouth. _Shit._

A sharp shove at her back sends Sophie stumbling, hands grabbing at air for balance. Bound hands catch her by the arm, pulls her upright until she finds her feet.

“Easy there, miss,” A woman says, voice soft, words coloured by a lilting brogue. “Jus’ keep your head down for now.” She’s a little younger than Sophie, warm skin tanned brown, loose dark hair falling over wool clad shoulders and a round friendly face smeared with dirt.

“You’re not scared.” Sophie mutters back, leaning into her hands, playing the part of weak, weary and afraid. It’s easy; her head hurts so much she can barely focus on anything more complex than putting one foot ahead of the other.

“Oh, I’m terrified, but I know what’s waiting for these bastards.” She gives Sophie’s arm a gentle squeeze, and it’s grounding, something to focus on beyond how much she hurts. She sets Sophie upright, glancing at the closest trio of slavers, Mihael among them. “Call me Maeve.”

“Sophie.”

“Pleasure.” Maeve says eyeing Sophie’s clothes, as dusty and sweat stained as the rest of them but still noticeably out of place, black boots, skirt, leggings, her leather jacket and glasses. “You’re not from around here, are you?” Sophie shakes her head. Ahead, slavers were guiding them into a narrow path that slipped between craggy rock that rose on either side like walls. Sophie’s gut clenched, throat going tight. Rats in a maze. Maeve hums beside her, steps steady and sure. “The lad, in the blue, the one that keeps lookin’ back at you?”

“Nathan. He’s with me.” Sophie couldn’t see him through the crowd ahead.

“Right.” Maeve squeezes her arm again. “Keep your head down. They won’t look at you if you play meek.” At Sophie’s frown, Maeve gives Sophie a subtle grin, tugging at the shawl wound around her chest to show a glimpse of dark leather. “No telling, aye?”

Despite herself, Sophie glances around, upwards and catches movement, a head ducking from view. A trap. She lips her lips, the bubbling fear in her chest turning into a buzz, the same one she got before a competition or sparring. Sophie breathes it in, uses it to keep her feet moving.

“Not a word.” She says. This many people in the way, there had to be a plan to keep the civilians safe. If she could get her hands free, she could help, at least keep Nathan safe.

* * *

Meekly, Sophie flows with the crowd of captives from open air to a looming cave entrance. Feet scuffed on the sandy floor of a short tunnel until they passed through a metal gate built into the rock. The cavern they spill into is dim, smoky, lit by braziers and flickering torches. Rough hands sort the bound men and women into cages built from wood, packing everyone in like sheep in a pen. Slipping through the crowd, Sophie is pushed and nudged to the side of the pen and grabs onto the frame for stability. In the next pen, she spots Maeve helping an old woman to the floor, and in the next, Nathan listening to a tall broad young man bent to speak against his ear. Maybe a friend of Maeve’s.

With the doors fastened by thick black chains, the slavers spread into the cave, lighting fires in braziers, laughing and yelling at one another. Natural grey rock rises into a high ceiling beyond the torchlight, the rough natural walls skirted by wooden walkways that loomed over the cages and entranceway. Out of the crowd, Sophie picks out Tanner as he mounts a few steps to a wooden platform dominated by a dark wooden table, bags -including hers- piled around the legs.

By the table, sipping from an honest to god goblet, a man studies the pens. Lean, taller than Tanner standing beside him, strong shoulders emphasised by the cut of his garb, robes in shades of red and black, accented by bronze that warmed dark olive skin. Gold glinted on his fingers, along the lobes of his ears, and sharp eyes were lined with kohl, giving him a sharp, roguish look ruined by the permanent twist to his lips. Head tilting towards Tanner, he listens, fingers tapping on the rim of his goblet as he scans the pens, gaze passing over Sophie like she wasn’t there. The boss then. His lips quirk as something Tanner says, laughing for a moment before gesturing the parchment spread over the table.

The pens grow packed as Sophie’s fellow captives are secured with thick chains. Some stand and glare at their captors as they move about whatever business or distraction they choose. By the far table, Tanner stands with Livia, sorting through bags and items, dumping them into piles. She bites the inside of her cheek, irritation settling in her belly as he pulls up Nathan’s grey backpack and tears it open. What next? How is he going to react to what he finds?

At first Tanner frowns, pulls out something made of blue fabric and turns it around. Pencil case. Tanner drops it and digs out something else. Notebook, flicks through it frowning. What’s the bet he can actually read? What would the level of literacy here be? What alphabet would they use? Latin? Something else? Sophie shakes her head. _Focus, you nerd._ By the time she looks again, Tanner’s got her bag open, her phone in his hand. He lifts his head, gaze meeting hers, brows low over her eyes. Sophie swallows. _Shit._

Tanner turns his head, speaks to Livia and the robed man and Sophie doesn't need to guess what comes next. Glancing along the pens, leans against the wooden frame, breathes slowly as she can, in and out. Breathe, a voice that sounds very much like her Aunt murmurs. Sophie can almost feel her hands correcting her posture, the angle of her fist. _Keep your mind clear, your body centered_. Sophie straightens, steps through the crowd on the balls of her feet, eyes tracking Livia as she gathers two helpers and heads for the pens. Maeve sits up in her own pen, glancing over her shoulder to Sophie. She mouths something Sophie can’t make up but by then there"s slavers at the front of Sophie’s pen, Livia’s thin lips and pale face twisted into a scowl. The door is pulled open, swords held threateningly, firelight gleaming on their sharp edges.

"Don't try anything." Livia grunts, jerking her chin. Sophie lifts her hands, palms out and steps out. The woman shoves Sophie into a walk. "Get the other weird one." She snaps and her helpers peel off as Sophie is pushed towards Tanner on the platform. He strides around the table to meet her, flipping her phone in his hand. He gives a flat-eyed smile. God, she wants to punch him. Right in the fucking throat. He steps aside for the man in charge, who leans down to study Sophie with a mocking smile.

“You were a luckier find than I thought,” he purrs, voice smooth, every syllable enunciated and confident. Sophie’s fists clench. Up close she can see an ugly warped scar crawling along his jaw and down to his throat, the cold brown eyes.

“Am I?” She asks and his smile grows.

“No need to be coy, my pet,” He says straightening, looking her over the same way Tanner had before. “You, both of you,” he says, turning his smile to Nathan as he stumbles up the steps. “You’re not from here, are you?” He tugs at Sophie’s jacket, playing fingers over the enamel pins, the collar of her shirt, then flicking at the cord on Nathan’s hoodie. “The clothes are foreign; I don’t recognise the fabrics. The things you carry with you, well…” He waggles Sophie’s phone before them. “I’d call you mages except I know the difference.”

Sophie shares a glance with Nathan, the younger man pale and sweaty. Mages? Like magic? Sophie’s head throbs sharply.

“We’re just people.” She says. Tanner snorts and the regal man scoffs, gently setting her phone on the table.

“And I, Theus Valeren, am a mere humble farmer.” He says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His hand snatches out, grabs Sophie’s chin, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “I’ll forgive your ignorance, pet, if you are indeed what I suspect, but that I am not patient.” His grip tightens, smile never budging as Sophie gives a pained whimper. “Where are you from?” He asks, cultured voice pleasant, like they were speaking over tea.

“Let her g-!” Nathan’s cut off by a thump, Tanner ramming his fist into his gut.

Sophie grits her teeth, fingers curling into fists. She can use the pain, latches onto it like a focus. “Australia.” She grits out, glaring. “You?”

Theus smiles, relaxing his grip a little. “Tevinter, but you don’t know where that is, do you?” He shifts his grip, rubs his thumb over her lips and it takes everything not to lurch forward and bite his finger off. “Answer me.”

“No. We’re lost. We don’t know where we are.” Sophie says and Theus smiles.

“Good girl. Now-” He falls silent, head cocking to the side, looking over their heads into the cave. He turns to Tanner. “Check your men, I th-” A scream cuts him off, the faint whistle of arrows sending Sophie’s heart into her throat. Theus swears, and Tanner draws his sword.

From the shadows above the platform, people drop onto the wood, weapons in hand. Bright, brilliant blue light flares, the tang of ozone filling Sophie’s nose and a voice roars in challenge, sending shivers along her skin. Sophie takes her chance. With a shout of her own, she twists, kicks back at Livia, catching her in the gut with her heel. Grabbing Nathan’s bound hands, Sophie pulls, dragging him to the table for cover. Behind them comes the crack of thunder, painfully loud in the cavern, drowning out shouts and clash of steel, and Sophie stumbles as something catches her foot. She hits the ground, scrabbling for purchase as a hard grip pulls her back. Sophie twists, kicking, hiking boot striking Livia square in the face.

“You’re going t’ pay for that, you fat sow!” She snarls, blood gushing from her nose. Sophie growls, baring her teeth, and rams the heel of her boot into the woman’s face, once, twice before bringing the back down on Livia’s head. The woman slumps, and Sophie struggles back, laying flat as a gout of flame whips through the air. Another comes from Theus’ hands, cracking through the air like a whip at a man in form fitting armour, curling flowing lines glowing through the leather. He lifts his sword, a ridiculously large two hander, blocking the strike and darts forward, swinging at Theus, lips parted in a snarl as the lines on his skin glow brighter.

“Holy shit.” Sophie breathes. A hand clamps down on her shoulder and she shrieks, kicking and twisting as she’s hauled back and up. Stupid, stupid _idiot!_ Calloused fingers wrap around her throat as Tanner pulls her back against his chest, the slaver edging away from the literal firefight.

“Stay quiet, bitch and you’ll live through this.” He growls, holding her in place to shield himself.

Sophie pulls at his arm. “Get fucked,” She rams her elbow at his gut, hits armour and tries again, ignoring a twinge of pain. Tanner’s grip tightens sharply around her neck, the throbbing in Sophie’s head intensifying as fear floods her system. He could kill her. He was likely to kill her anyway. Grabbing at his arm, Sophie sets her feet on the wood platform and twists, pivoting from the hips using her weight and her strength to pull Tanner off balance. He goes down, hooking an arm around her leg as he falls. Sophie tumbles, falls, hitting her back. Smoke tickles her dry throat, and she coughs, gasping as Tanner hauls his bulk on top of over, grinning as she squirms. Sophie swings her bound hands at his chest, earning a laugh before he swings, cracking the back of his hand against her cheek. Stars explode before Sophie’s eyes and a thick meaty hand presses over her mouth.

“I gave you a chance, woman. Coulda lived with your skin whole,” Tanner gropes at Sophie's chest. Panic tightens her throat. No. Gods no, _please_. “Mostly. But now I’m go-” A chair collides with his head, knocking him off her. Sophie gasps for air, coughing. Nathan shouts something incomprehensible as he brings the chair down on Tanner again and again.

“Fucking. Piece. Of shit!” Nathan grunts with each hit, only stopping when Sophie climbs to her knees, wobbling, adrenaline shaking her limbs. She has to move. Get up. They need to run. “Are you alright?” He asks. Sophie nods, opening her mouth to speak when Nathan stiffens. Angry red lines curl under his skin, around his limbs, jerking him back into Theus’ grip.

“Apologies, boy.” He says, panting, blood trickling down his hands. “Nothing personal.” He says and slashes his knife over Nathan’s throat.

“ _No_!” Sophie screams. Nathan gapes at her, mouth opening silently as blood spurts into the air, hanging for a moment, before bursting into viciously bright light. Theus drops Nathan, gathering the burning blood around his hands as he turns to the swordsman behind him. Snow white hair is scorched, smeared with blood, baring cool olive skin, large eyes, and a strong straight nose. His gaze never wavers from Theus, watching as he weaves the blood into a spell, the air thickening, pressure beating down on Sophie where she kneels. She looks down. Nathan is still, eyes dull, looking at the wall with the same shocked expression. She touches her fingers to his cheek. He doesn’t respond.

Fury sparks in her chest, hot, freeing. She rides it, snatching up the knife from Tanner’s belt, rising. Theus is flicking his flaming whips at the swordsman, ghostly figures chasing him back with clawed fingers. Neither of them notice her.

Sophie knows where to aim the knife, the best way to bring Theus down to her height. She stomps the side of his knee, it crunches and he lets out a strangled shout, falling. Fire bursts, hitting Sophie in the chest, the burning heat forcing her back with a shriek, hitting the wooden table behind her. Her hair’s on fire, her skin, her clothes, scorching her lungs. And then it stops.

Theus gapes at her, the fire in his hands winking out, and then at the glowing arm that vanishes into his chest. The owner, blue lines burning on his skin, gives Theus a last look before twisting and tearing his arm free. Blood splatters the wood floor, and Theus thumps down, dead.

Nausea kicks at Sophie’s stomach. She grips at the table behind her for support as the swordsman, flicks blood from his hand, and glances at the cavern before turning his focus on her.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, voice smooth, bearing the same accent as Theus. Sophie looks down at herself. Her face hurts, skin hot and tight, her chest and throat aching and her head…. She gives a slow shake and he nods, glancing down at the trio of bodies, frowning when Tanner groans. Around them, the sounds of fighting have stopped, a woman’s voice, rough and lilting starts giving orders. It’s over. She’s alive. And… Sophie’s gaze falls on Nathan’s body and her stomach lurches.

Pushing off the table, Sophie stumbles towards an open barrel and empties her stomach. Nathan is dead. People are… Dead. She just watched… Sophie heaves again, bile pouring from her throat, hot angry tears making her eyes sting. What the fuck. What the flying shit-monkeying fuck. Sobs tear from her chest, Sophie’s fingers digging into rough old wood as all the fear, confusion and exhaustion crashes into her like an avalanche. Nathan is dead. She couldn’t protect herself much less him. And magic, fucking _magic_ and now… Sophie sobs again, knees buckling before giving away. She crumbles, clinging to the barrel as she cries.

The ragged sobs slowly subside, and when she lifts her head, the strange man crouches by her, close enough to offer a waterskin with metal clad fingers. Sans blood, Sophie notices, hesitating before taking the skin. The water inside is cool, soothes her throat and she drinks until her stomach rebels. Fighting down another wave of nausea, she holds it out until he takes it.

“Here,” he says, voice low, and offers a small glass bottle of something liquid and green. Sophie glances at him, brows rising. He lifts his tattooed chin, gaze flicking over her face. “You’re burned. Drink this, it will help.” Right. Her skin stings, hot. Fuck it. She takes the bottle and fumbles with the cork until it pops free. A green and herbal smell wafts upwards and she grimaces.

“If this kills me,” she says, voice a rasp. “I’m haunting your ass.” Sophie lifts it to her mouth, tasting the bitter and sharp contents before swallowing it down. The man blinks at her before letting out a soft laugh that sobers quickly.

“It isn’t poison.” He says, eyeing the empty vial. Sophie’s lips tingle, then her mouth, her throat, pain easing away like she swallowed a fast acting anaesthetic. The tightness in her face fades, cooling quickly, and even the fierce ache in her head subsides.

Sophie looks down at the bottle, then back to him. She actually feels better. “Bit late.” She says and passes it back, and he gives another brief smile.

“I’ll lead with that next time.” He says. Gaze on her, he straightens his back. “Can you stand?” Sophie frowns, looking over her shoulder. Theus and Nathan were out of sight, replaced by canvas covered lumps. Her heart aches in her chest.

“I don’t think I want to.” She answers before sucking in a breath and slowly rising to her feet. “Fall down eight times, get up nine.” She mutters. Her Dad again. Sophie shakes her head, eyeing the man as he rises on bare feet. He was slim, lean despite the muscle in under the leggings and fitted armour, only a few inches taller than herself, his angular face clean shaven and strange enough to be noticeable. The bridge of his nose didn’t dip, but ran straight from his brows down to the tip, and his eyes, large, brilliant mossy green iris’ filling them up as he studies her in turn. And then there were the ears, tapering into points that peaked out of that pale hair. It really was white from root to tip. His gaze meets hers and he lifts his chin.

“I am Fenris.” He says. “And though it is worth little, I am sorry for the loss of your companion.” He glances at the canvas covered lumps. “He was brave.”

“He was a kid.” Sophie says. “Now he’s dead.” Wincing at the bitterness in her voice, she looks away, numbly walking to the table, picking up her phone. Nathan’s bag is still on the table, his wallet and keys splattered with droplets of blood. She picks up the wallet, turning it over. His student ID sticks out, the back covered in a graffiti style word. Valiant. Fuck. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“A pyre.” Fenris answers. “It is a simple farewell, but necessary.”

“Right.” In the cavern proper, soldiers in browns and blues lift and haul dead slavers to carts, while others tend to now free captives. Maeve is among them, speaking gently to a girl no older than fifteen. Sophie puts Nathan’s wallet back into his bag and scoops up her own. She’ll keep the ID. She will remember him.

Wood creaks, and out the corner of her eye, Sophie tracks Fenris as he steps off the platform, slipping through the soldiers like a ghost.

◆

Winnifred’s people are efficient, clearing the cavern with practised coordination while their Captain looks on. She glances at Fenris as he slips around two men carrying bodies bundled in canvas. She arches a brow, flicking her gaze to the strange woman on the platform. Fenris shakes his head.

“Any casualties?” He asks.

Winnifred’s grimaces. “One. Aleck.” She says softly and Fenris sighs, closing his eyes. A good man, thoughtful, ruthlessly cunning.

“He would have made a fine commander.” Fenris says and Winnifred gives a humourless chuckle.

“Aye. He was a sharp one.” She pulls off her armoured glove with a grunt, flexing her fingers with a wince, healing bruises dark on her knuckles. “Beyond that, just a few injuries, some prisoners to face justice, and well…” Winnifred turns her head back to the platform. The strange woman sags where she sits, a dark leather jacket draped around her shoulders, her face empty of expression. Fenris knows that look, the hollow ache that accompanies it. “Maeve told me there were two.”

“There was.” Fenris says gently, returning his focus to the huddled mass of captives, friends and family finding each other in the crowd. A few were wounded, one young man with a bloodied gash across his chest that smiled gladly at the soldier stitching his flesh together. “What do we do with them?” Fenris asks.

“Escort to the nearest village,” Winnifred says. “Try to get them on the way home, those that have a home. Send a messenger ahead of us to let His Highness know we’ll be returning to Kirkwall soon.”

Fenris hums, tapping the tips of his gauntlet against the opposing vambrace. “And the woman?”

Winnifred’s lips purse before she sighs, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “You’re certain she’s from a rift?”

“Relatively.” Fenris turns to again study the slumped figure, her face obscured by her hands. A pang of sympathy strikes his chest. She had looked at him with such fear.

“Then we’d best ask to be sure.” Winnifred squares her shoulders. “Once the pyre is organised I’ll see what I can get. Unless you feel like talking to the lass, Wraith.” With that, the Captain inclines her head, a little too deep for a simple nod, and starts towards the freed captives, voice raised to grab their attention. Sighing, Fenris scrubs his metal tipped fingers through his hair, and turns on his heel.

He carries bodies, hauling slavers to the growing mound of wood scavenged from the encampment. Simple, easy work. A fine excuse to avoid the inevitable until he finds himself again on the platform, the woman’s gaze heavy as Fenris bends to scoop up the body of her companion. She stands as Fenris descends the steps, follows him through the cave to the fading light of day. The pyre is almost ready, Aleck draped in his cloak, and Fenris lays the boy beside him with a muttered prayer. A waste.

He climbs down, nods to the soldier standing ready with a torch and slips through the group to where the woman stares at the pyre with ruddy eyes, arms tight around an oddly shaped grey bag.

It takes her a moment to look at him, and it gives Fenris a chance to study her a little closer. Under the dirt and grey dust, sweat and blood, she’s pale with a fine face, cheeks high and full, a soft nose and delicate pink lips marred by a split. It’s the eyes that draw him in when she lifts her face to meet his gaze. Red from tears, big, grey like polished iron or heavy clouds and focused, studying him as he studies her. The fear lingers, and she lifts her chin, jaw set.

“What now?” She asks, voice rough.

“Perhaps we should start with your name.” Fenris says.

“Sophie.” She says, dropping her gaze. By the pyre, a woman’s voice rises over the crackle of catching flame, reciting the chant in a voice that rings off the canyon walls. Sophie nods to the pyre. “He was Nathan.”

Fenris hums. “For the little it’s worth, I am sorry.” Some of the tightness in Sophie’s shoulders ease and she nods, glancing at him.

“Thank you. Also for…” Her brow furrows a little, her nose wrinkling. “Saving my life, I guess.” She gestures, flexing her fingers into a loose claw-like fist. “Handy trick that is.” Fenris looks down at his armoured hands, the lingering specks of blood from the magister. He offers a small smile, little more than a quirk of his lips.

“You are welcome. I regret only that I could not save you both.” He says, and Sophie’s face falls.

“Yeah. Well.” She wraps her arms about her bag, the leather of her jacket creaking. “It’s a bullshit cliche, but life’s a bitch, I’m told.” Sophie says and blinks, looking shocked.

Fenris snorts, covering his laugh with a hand. Blessedly, none of the soldiers hear, more voices added to the rise and fall of the Chant. “True as that may be…” He starts. “I would like to know how you came to be here. Perhaps then we could discuss what comes next.”

Sophie scoffs, wiping at her face. “Not much to tell. Life is normal. Ish. We’re told to evacuate, we go down a stairwell, next thing we know we’re in the middle of nowhere, at night and there are slavers.” She finishes with a snarl and flicks her gaze at him. “I guess you took the bus.”

Fenris frowns. “I… what?”

Sophie lifts a hand, shaking her head. “I… sorry. Angry. Not really sure my options go beyond strike out alone, which is stupid and suicidal, or follow you to your leader.” She sighs, head falling back. “He anything like that asshole with the…?” she pulls a face, fear and anger mingling, touching fingers to newly healed skin.

“The mage.” Fenris says softly. “And no, their leader is a friend.” Fenris says gesturing to the soldiers. “He is kind. A good man.”

“There’s a lot of assholes I know that get called good men, so forgive me if I’m a little skittish.” Sophie mutters, withdrawing further into her jacket. Fenris’ brows arch. Strange to see the ghost of his old rage now cloaked around another, schooling her face into a hard mask that barely hides her terror. The familiarity aches in the hollow of his chest.

“You are right.” He says gently. “And you have every reason to doubt me and every word.” Just as he doubted everyone since his flight from Seheron, until Hawke. She did not demand his faith, she simply showed him her worth, let him decide. As had the others, for the most part. Rubbing the back of his fingers against his chin, Fenris watched the firelight flicker over the walls of slate around them, the foul stench of burning flesh sweetened by herbs tossed into the flame. “I offer you this. Take the time to think, speak with the Captain. Ask her or I any question you desire. Whatever choice you make after, I will respect.”

Sophie squints at him, lips pressed into a thin line. After a few moments, she nods. “Alright. Show me the Captain.”

* * *

They step out of the chill wind rushing between the high rocky slopes, returning to the relative warmth of the cave. Camp has been made for the evening, the freed men and women gathered around fires, soldiers laying out bedrolls and blankets, passing rations. Winnifred holds court a little ways from the bulk of the group, beckoning when she sees Fenris and Sophie, and dismissing her lieutenants

“This is Captain Winnifred Tather of Starkhaven,” Fenris says, stepping lightly to sit on a low bench. “Captain, this is Sophie…” He trails off as he takes her in, painfully strange and out of place, an odd violet bag hanging off one shoulder, a grey one hanging from her hand. Not dressed for travel, or for anything Fenris recognises.

“Sophie Adler.” She says, quiet, accent strange to his ears.

“You’ve my condolences, serah.” Winnifred gestures to the low bench and squat crate by the fire. “For your loss and your situation.” Sophie’s brow wrinkles as she sits, setting her bags down shoulders curled forward, lips pulling into a similarly bleak smile.

“Thank you. And, uh, you too.” She says, brushing dirt from black leggings that vanished beneath a queer skirt made of irregular layers of grey cloth. Firelight caught on the frames of spectacles between bruised and cut fingers, a silver ring, buckles on bulky boots. As he draws out his blade to clean, her gaze flicks towards him, lingers on the bloodied blade before she turns her attention back to the fire, fingers pulling at green sleeves that peek from her jacket. “So, I’m gonna jump to the point and ask where the hell are we?”

Winnifred casts Fenris a look, faint amusement twinkling in her dark eyes. “The Wounded Coast, a week's march from Kirkwall. Are you familiar?”

Sophie’s brows arch. “Let’s assume I’m not.” She says, glancing down at her garb. A laugh bubbles up from Fenris' chest that he smothers with a quiet cough, heat rushing to the tips of his ears, as both women stare at him.

Fenris clears his throat. “Then where are you from?” He asks.

Sophie’s lips twitch. “I think saying ‘not here’ would be a touch too obvious but uh… Brisbane. Australia.” She flexes her fingers, massaging the joints. “I’m guessing I’m not the only weirdo from elsewhere you’ve seen.” She looks at Fenris over the brassy frame of her spectacles. He looks to the blade balanced on his knees.

“No.” Fenris says. He doesn’t think of the dead woman and her babe, the other body Winnifred’s people found, but they come to mind regardless. “There have been others, likely more. Strangely dressed and,” He sighs. “Gravely wounded.”

“Burned.” Winnifred continues. “As if by a great fire.” Out the corner of Fenris’ gaze, Sophie twitches, fingers clenching.

“Fire.” She echoes. “You just found them? Out of nowhere or…?”

“No.” Fenris refolds his cloth, wiping away the dried blood from his sword.. “The night before this, something I,” he glances at Winnifred, “ -We- have never seen swept over the sky. With it came tears in the air. Green, shifting, like crystal. From one came a woman, as Winnifred says.” Fenris studies Sophie’s face, the furrow between her brows as she listens, staring into the fire. “She was burned. She did not survive.”

Sophie sucks in a breath, lips pressing into a line. “I don’t…” She huffs, lifting strands of hair to show a bloodied gash that cuts up into her hairline. “I remember running. Down stairs. Slipped, hit my head. I don’t remember much until…” Her frown deepens. “Green? Like bottle green? Bright but sickly?” She asks fingers tracing shapes in the air, looking to Fenris, eyes big like she could see her memories hanging in front of her. “Like that?” Fenris nods slowly and Sophie exhales. “And you found people, like me, at these… freaky green portals?”

Fenris arches a brow at this and after a moment, finds his reply. “Presuming you came from the same place.” In a pouch on his hip, the strange broken thing the woman dropped is an unfamiliar weight, even as he pulls it out and offers it to Sophie. Her hand trembles as she takes it, turning it around, firelight glinting off the shattered front, fingers tracing the warped material.

“Do you know what that is?” Winnifred asks, voice hushed, as if Sophie were in a trance she feared to break.

“Yeah.” She says. Fenris pauses his cleaning to watch her dig around in her odd bag. From her pocket she opens with a strange ripping sound, she pulls out black leather bound object, a little larger than the broken thing Fenris found. She unfolds a flap to reveal a black glossy surface like obsidian, smooth and unmarked. “It’s a mobile phone. A means to communicate over distance.” Her thumb presses along the side and the black surface lit up, an image coming into view. Fenris cranes his head as Sophie holds it for them to see. White symbols sit starkly on top of a picture of a cat sprawled in a beam of sunlight. A few moments later the screen goes dark.

“Magic?” Winnifred asks. Sophie’s face pulls into a funny little frown before she shakes her head.

“Uh, not a thing where I come from. Technology. Based on science. Study of the world.” She says, closing the flap over her phone.

“No magic.” Fenris murmurs. Only to be dragged before a mage-slaver, her companion slain for blood magic before her eyes. He looks down at his metal clad fingers, the brands on his palm reflecting faintly against his sword. And him, tearing a heart from a man’s chest.

Sophie clears her throat. “So that, the man with the fire? That was…” Fenris lifts his head. Her chin trembled as she bit her lip. “Magic? Actual wizard ‘I cast fireball at the darkness’ magic?”

A smile pulls at Fenris’ lips as Winnifred chuckles.

“Ye could say that.” She says. “The man in control of the slaver scum here was a mage, most slavers from Tevinter are.”

“Huh.” Sophie says flatly. “So this is a common problem.” Fenris snorts, forcing his face to calm as he pours oil onto a rag to polish his sword.

“Unfortunately,” he says, ignoring Winnifred’s withering look. Now was not the time for humour, as much as he appreciated it in the face of hardship. “They come from the far north to prey on travellers, small villages, any one that stumbles into their net.”

“Which is why we’re here.” Winnifred continues. “And why I think it’d be best for you to travel with us, until you can find your way.” She lets the invitation hang as Fenris drags the oiled rag down the middle of his sword. Between them, Sophie worries her bottom lip, eyes hidden by the firelight reflected in her spectacles.

“To where?” She asks after a time.

“West." Fenris says. "To Kirkwall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya all  
> I've had a few questions about a posting schedule. Right now I'm aiming for an update once a week (Fridays for me in Aus) with maybe an extra chapter everynow and then if one is particularily short. While I have most of Home is Behind drafted out, I do live with some chronic mental issues that can get in the way of working on things. If that happens, just bear with me. :D  
> And of course, thank you all so much for reading~


	3. Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much credit and love to Underwaterattribute for agreeing to proofread this and every chapter going forward.

Chapter 3

Morning is pale and cold as Fenris steps into the craggy gorge, squinting at the slowly clearing sky. The salt on the air is heavy, damp, threatening a downpour later in the day. Scowling, Fenris lifts his hood, sparing a glance to the still smoldering mound of ash before joining Winnifred. She overlooks the slow moving column of people as they file from the cavern and through the gorge, head tilted to her Lieutenant as he speaks. Gerhardt gives Fenris a nod before saluting his Captain and joining the column, issuing sharp orders that echo in the still morning.

“He’s still not sure of himself.” Winnifred murmurs, watching the younger man with a fond smile. Fenris arches a brow in reply and she shakes her head. “Are you rested, Fenris?”

He sighs. “Some.” What little he had was disturbed by flickers of green, questions unanswered, and a growing certainty something was amiss. Scanning the lingering group of four soldiers watching their fellows march on, Fenris frowns. “The woman?”

“Is awake.” Her voice comes from behind. In the light of day, Sophie is pale, skin leached of colour save her lips and the brassy frames of her spectacles, framed by shorter strands of brown hair falling over her forehead. She blinks at him, conjuring images of a very unimpressed owl, albeit one with bruised and ruddy eyes. “I regret it but I’m awake.”

The corner of his mouth pulls into a brief smile, Winnifred chuckling beside him, gallows humour an old friend to both.

“You might regret it a little more, serah.” Winnifred says. “We’ve a long day ahead.” She eyes Sophie critically before nodding, satisfied. Sophie’s exchanged her skirts for trousers of hardy looking indigo cloth, hems tucked into the tops of her bulky boots.

“And more besides.” Fenris says finally. Five or so days of march to Kirkwall providing they avoided disaster. Distantly to the south, thunder rumbles as if reminding him and Fenris sighs.

“Like rain,” Sophie drawls, pulling up a hood, green like her blouse.“Yippy.”

The weather holds out as the smaller group waits for their way to clear, falling into an easy pace as they take the path west. Winnifred leads; another lad, Maius, beside her, skin a dark umber and keeping rhythm on his shield. Maeve and Callum follow, keeping a cloak wrapped Sophie between them, distracting the outsider with a cheerful story about a sinking rowboat in Starkhaven’s river. The quiet and thoughtful Ryce with his sandy hair followed after, while Fenris took the rear, scanning the road ahead and behind as they walk, the wind picking up, casting sand and dead leaves swirling around their feet. The storm breaks slowly, rain, growing heavier and heavier, until lightning crashes overhead, prompting all to lift the hoods of their cloaks. By midday they huddle in a narrow passage as they take a standing lunch, and despite shivering, Sophie gives no word of complaint.

The rain eases towards evening, as the group gratefully set up camp in one of the many small caves dotting the coast, rain dripping from the mouth. As he starts to build the fire with Ryce’s aid, Fenris watches the strange woman from the corner of her eye. Any offers to help are gently rebuffed, until Callum sets a line to hang their cloaks to dry. The big lad grins, telling another story from his youth, of stealing his mother’s sheets to play dragon and chase his siblings, ending gloriously by falling into a muddy creek. Sophie lets out a strangled sound before laughing, ducking her face as if to hide her mirth.

As Ryce strikes his fire starter, he sighs. “Now he’ll be insufferable,” He says frowning at Callum who beams as he leads into another story, broad hands describing shapes.

“Perhaps,” Fenris muses, gently prodding the burning tinder into place. And yet, there’s a change in the group, some of the miserable tension fading, Maeve interrupting Callum with playful input, the two growing the tale into something ever more ridiculous, earning smiles from all and another frown from Ryce. As the evening passes, the stories pass back and forth, sometimes ridiculous but true, others blatantly false, and as food is passed around, Fenris sits by Sophie who huddles in a curious but warm looking over-sized tunic.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, offering a dish of flatbread, cheese and dried meat. Sophie stirs, glancing at him before accepting the dish with her hands tucked into her tunic’s deep blue sleeves.

“Not really,” Sophie sighs and sets the dish on her knee, taking a bite out of a piece of cheese. Her nose wrinkles as she chews and Fenris huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yes, not particularly appealing is it?” He takes a bite, bracing against the sharp taste of aged cheese that was already potent enough to begin with.

“I dunno,” Sophie says after swallowing, picking at the hot flatbread. “I’ve had worse.”

“As have I.” His first few weeks of escape, living on scraps and stolen morsels and whatever he could hunt. Which was very little. The world was not kind to elves, less so to elvish slaves on the run.

“You’re not a soldier.” Sophie says, her low voice pulling him from his thoughts. Fenris looks up to find her studying him, tracing the lines flowing down his throat and flicking up to his ears. “Different armour, weapons, not in the chain of command but they listen to you.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “You have a good eye. I was asked to help Winnifred and her soldiers, to teach them what I knew of hunting slavers.”

“Which are common enough to warrant training.” Sophie murmurs, pulling apart the bread on her dish, popping a piece into her mouth. “And, and don’t take this the wrong way, but the ears?” She gives him another quick look. Fenris blinks, brows rising.

“I… They are mine?” He says and Sophie’s lips quirk.

“Well, duh. I mean… where I’m from no one’s ears are like that without cosmetics.” She twists towards him setting down her dish, eyes sharp as she looks over his features. “You’re an… elf?”

Ah. “I am.” Fenris frowns. “There are no elves in your lands?” Sophie shakes her head, an odd kind of wonder on her face that she shakes off, schooling her face into something more polite instead of staring.

“No. Or magic. Which I said.” She rubs her hand against her chin. “Elves. Holy shit.” She huffs. “Dwarves?”

“They… exist, yes. Less common outside of their underground cities but still prevalent.” Fenris says, lips pulling into a wry smile. More curious than afraid, holding back her fear to seek answers. He admires that. “Also not present in your lands?”

“Outside people with dwarfism, which is exactly how it sounds,” Sophie says. “Or stories. Nope.” Her brows furrow. “Orcs?” Fenris frowns at her and she sighs. “Either a race of twisted evil things corrupted by a demigod of nastiness or big green and tribal.” At his baffled look she smiles impish. “No orcs. Got it. You said mages?”

“Common.” Fenris says. Kirkwall was once full of them, apostates, in the gallows, hiding in plain sight. Many fell to corruption. One did not. “Not all are as foul as Valeren, the man leading the slavers, but all are dangerous.”

“Well… magic…” Sophie spreads her hands, glancing at him again. “And these?” she taps her chin, eyes on the brands on his skin.

“Lyrium.” He doesn’t bother touching his fingers to the marks, nor does he try to hide them. “I have no magic, but these allow me certain abilities.” Sophie shoves her hand forward, mimicking the tearing motions he killed Valeren with. “Precisely.”

“Are they common or…” Sophie starts and Fenris tenses. She nods. “Okay. Not common. Not pressing.” She picks up her dish and eats another piece of bread and Fenris gives a slow sigh of relief.

“Their story is… It is unpleasant.” He starts and Sophie waves a hand, as across the fire, Maius pulls a clay instrument from his pack.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have pressed.” Sophie says. The first few notes of a song signal the end of any other conversation, the sweet almost yearning melody echoing off the cave walls as the group finishes their meal. His dish empty, Fenris leans back against a sandy boulder, glancing at the strange woman staring intently at the fire. No elves, dwarves or magic. How different was her world? How strange must she find this one.

A clear sky follows them as they travel, accompanied by more stories, songs that vary from sweet to bawdy and leaves half the group breathless.

“It’s a mercy no brigand thought to try their luck.” Ryce comments during a walking lunch, scowling at the backs of Callum and Maeve. The pair have taken Sophie under their wing, coaxing her from her shell with light talk and easy questions. Now they were trying their luck for a song, Sophie rebuffing them, warning them off with threats of bleeding ears.

“No doubt the rain has been of some help.” Fenris answers dryly, sparing the scowling young man a glance. “And likely the efforts of your countrymen.”

The lad scoffs. “Or something else.” He rubs his thumb against a polished brass pendant, Andraste’s face wreathed in flame.

Fenris frowns. “You think the woman a demon perhaps?” He asks and Ryce’s face twists.

“Per-” Ryce cuts off. “No, not a demon, but you must admit, the sky turning green, those rifts, and these people. It’s ill news.”

“Without question.” Fenris spares a lingering look to the South where the terrible wave of green had come. “We do not have enough information to know what to fear. Nor does it serve us to jump at shadows.”

“It’s not shadows that worry me.” The lad replies, glancing at Fenris, brown eyes hard. “She could be dangerous. To all of us. They all could.”

“Perhaps, but we are no less dangerous.”

Towards the afternoon, the clouds above them return, rolling in from the sea. Winnifred calls a stop amongst the craggy outcrops a half days march from Kirkwall, the city a jagged smear on the horizon. Sophie is the first to sag onto a flat rock, easing her pack from her shoulders with a wince and a groan, pulling free the curious painted canteen she keeps for her water.

“How are you coping?” Fenris asks, sinking to sit beside her, digging his booted feet into the wet sand.

“In a word?” Sophie asks after sipping her water. “Ow.” She rolls her shoulders, stretching out her legs. “My feet hate me. They're planning a mutiny, I just know it.”

His laugh escapes him before he can help it and she smiles, the expression only just reaching her eyes. “You seem to be adjusting regardless.” Fenris says.

“Lucky me.” Sophie’s smile drops as she twists looking towards Kirkwall and Fenris takes the chance to study her further. Her skin has healed from the flame, any cuts and grazes now little more than lines or scars. Without her spectacles, her face is open, rounded by soft cheeks flushed from exertion, damp hair clinging to her skin where it wasn’t tucked behind ears pierced with studs. She sighs. “I don’t see what else I can do.”

“For the moment, at least.” Fenris says, pulling his focus away. “I never did ask. What is your home called?”

“The world or my local area?” Sophie snorts. “I lived in Brisbane. The country is called Australia. The world… Earth. Terra.” She shrugs. “Nothing like here. Well, nowadays.” Fenris tilts his head.

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Well, swords, armour, travel mostly by horse or foot.” Sophie pulls her flat device from her pocket and lights up the screen. “Centuries ago, Earth was similar. Kinda of.” She glances at him, eyeing his armour. “My dad’s a historian. I grew up around this stuff, but it wasn’t common.” She taps the flat surface of her phone before holding it up for him to look. An image, fantastically detailed, showing a blue sky over towers of shining steel, and was that glass? Blackened roads wound along the edge of the city over the bank of a glittering river, dotted with brightly coloured box-like shapes, and all through it were dots of green. Fenris leans in close, eyes greedy for more detail, a storm of questions threatening to spill from his mouth.

“What-?”

“It’s a picture. Have a look.” Sophie thrusts the device at him and Fenris gingerly takes it. There’s no thrum of magic, nothing to pull at the brands on his fingers.

“This was your home?” He asks.

“Kind of. I lived in the surrounding area but this is Brisbane.”

“How tall are the buildings?”

“The tallest? I dunno, maybe thirty-ish stories.” Sophie says. “There’s bigger cities. Much bigger.”

“Bigger.” Fenris repeats. He can’t imagine it. Parts of Kirkwall towered over the populace, the long gone Chantry once the city’s peak, the looming walls made to make one feel small and helpless. To stand in between taller structures, gleaming and glinting in the sun… He shudders. The image in his hands goes dark and he frowns, tapping at it. “Is it… broken?”

“No, the screen just turns off when you’re not using it.” She holds out her hand and Fenris passes it back, almost relieved to be rid of the thing.

“And that picture? It was painted?”

Sophie does something that brings the image back to view, using her bare fingers to change the image like flipping the pages in a book. “No, I uh, captured the image with something called a camera. Think of an eye made with glass lenses that copies what it sees. It’s way more complicated than that.”

Fenris tries not to be nervous. The thing in Sophie’s hands is smaller than a book, just a smooth slate with a glowing side that responds to the touch of her fingers. Her movements are light and quick, tapping, flicking, heedless of the occasional looks from Winnifred and her people. Sophie makes no attempt to hide that she was from elsewhere, asking questions with unabashed curiosity and focus. A thinker and well educated at that. Sophie shifts a little closer on the rock and shows him the ‘phone’.

“So this symbol is the camera,” She says and taps the small square shape. The screen changes to show her legs, the ground before them. Fenris stares as she holds it for him to see, turning the phone and pointing out a dark glossy circle. “It sees through this.”

“How?” He asks and she hums, turning the phone around again.

“I don’t know if I can explain, but it’s layers of glass lenses that can focus on what’s in front of it. Another part records what it sees onto the phone’s memory. How it keeps everything recorded.”

Fenris opens his mouth to ask, and hesitates a moment. “Like the mind?” He asks. Sophie gives a crooked smile, playful and pleased and something proud in him rears its head.

“Spot on.” She lifts her phone. “Here, hold still.” Fenris frowns, staring, and the phone makes an odd clicking sound. Sophie makes that smile again and shows him. It’s… Him. A perfect copy of his face frozen in utter bafflement. He pulls the phone closer, traces the lines of his own face with his eyes. Most mirrors could never show a face so clearly, certainly not the ones he would often see. But with this, he can see everything, the weathering of his skin from years in the sun, faint lines around his eyes, the subtle gleam of his brands on his chin and neck. Is this what she sees?

“This… truly is not magic?”

Sophie shakes her head, leaning close. Her shoulder bumps his and he doesn’t flinch. “No. I don’t really know the science behind it well enough to explain in detail but…” Fenris turns to look, but Sophie’s focus is on her phone. “A writer once posited that any form of technology, sufficiently advanced, would be indistinguishable from magic. But it’s still technology.” She lifts her face and for a moment they’re inches apart. Her lips, soft but chapped, pull into a smaller shy smile and pulls away. “Here, you wanna try?”

Fenris blinks, looks down at the offered object and gingerly accepts it. “You’ll need to use you finger if you can, but, point it at what you want to take a picture of, and press this circle here.” Sophie says. Fenris nods, dedicating the instructions to memory. But what to take a picture of? Winnifred’s people are starting to rise, their lunch done. He hasn’t eaten but he can do that while walking. He stands, phone in hand, slowly turning. His gaze settles on Sophie as she rolls her shoulders, stretching her neck. He lifts the phone, presses the small circle on the glossy front and it clicks. Sophie’s eyes snap open. “Did you just-?” Again that smile, surprised and pleased crosses her face.

“It seemed fitting.” Fenris tells her. He copies what she did, summoning the picture he took and, well, it’s flattering he thinks. Her eyes closed, hair bronzed in the sun, the pale line of her neck long, leading the eyes downward. Fenris clears his throat and offers it back. She looks, brows rising and gives a soft laugh, pink colouring her cheeks.

“Look at that, you’re a natural.” Sophie says and slips the phone in her pocket. “It’s a nice picture.”

He smiles and silently agrees. “Thank you.”

By the day’s end, Kirkwall fills their path ahead, as heavy clouds blacken overhead. Fenris scowls upwards at the distant flicker of lightning with a no small amount of resignation.

“You know, I actually love storms.” Sophie says beside him, face turned upwards. The smell of rain thickens as the wind picks up, playing with her brown hair. “The thunder, lightning, everything being washed clean by the rain.” She breathes in and hops down a low ledge. “Getting caught in them while hiking, less so.”

Fenris chuckles quietly. “I don’t believe anyone enjoys that.”

“Some might.” Sophie counters, voice light though the humour does not reach her eyes. No one in the company has said anything about how it must feel, to be alone in a place so completely foreign. Any mention of family is swiftly shifted aside for another subject, her smile growing brittle. Questions about her home lead to asking about Starkhaven, Kirkwall, elsewhere. He’s seen it, on himself, on others, that cloak of normalcy when everything inside is a storm, eyes shadowed, a mask in place. Fenris at least knew the world he moved through when he ran from Danarius. It was known, predictable. She lacks even that.

“So you lived here, right?” Sophie asks, jerking Fenris from his thoughts. He follows the wave of her hand to the stark heavy walls of Kirkwall. They’re perhaps a few hours out, air heavy and thick, droplets hitting Fenris’ head.

“For a time. Perhaps still.” He answers, glancing at Sophie. She’s frowning at the walls, pulling the dark cloak Callum found for her in the cave tight against the cold wind.

“Is it as bad as they say?” She asks, tilting her chin to the soldiers in front of them, hiking in a neat double line. Fenris almost laughs. What little he’s heard the chatty young men and women tell Sophie could be said about any city. Wealthy on top, the poor below, elves shunted to a dank corner, the Chantry providing for the faithful. But…

Fenris sighs. “Yes, and no. I have seen… some terrible things.” Hawke’s mother, a living corpse, the desperate blood mages, the Qunari massacre… He shakes his head. “Kirkwall has its rumours for good reason. Perhaps not all have seen the violence I have, but there is a darkness to it.” Sophie’s lips press together, throat working as she swallows. Fenris reaches, hesitates and then gently touches his fingers to her shoulder. “You have my word, I will see you safe through the city.”

Sophie looks up at him with her large eyes, bare and honest. For a moment, he sees the fear before she blinks, nods and looks away. “Thank you, Fenris.” She says and keeps walking, easing her shoulder away from his touch. He drops his hand and follows, the sky opening up above them.

The rain is cold, leeching the heat from his limbs. The group picks up speed, desperate to get to some cover and out of the slowly forming mud. At the gates, they’re met by more of Sebastian’s men, Winnifred slowing to speak with them, and the Kirkwall guard. A familiar face steps forward through the crowd.

“You look like a drowned rat, Fenris.” Donnic calls out, grinning.

Fenris looks him over, smiling. “And you look weary.”

The guardsman laughs, rubbing a gloved hand on the back of his neck. “It’s the children. They’re absolute terrors.” Donnic’s smile turns fond. “Little Beth asks after you.” Beth, for Bethany, is the eldest of the Hendyr brood, born a year and a half before the Chantry was destroyed, brunette like her father, freckled and blue eyed like her mother and just as wilful. She was followed two years later by Theo, who took after his father in everything save for the bright ginger hair. Despite Fenris’ brusque demeanour, and his fears of harming the pair, the children were somehow fond of him, often demanding he read to them on the rare night Donnic convinces him to visit.

Fenris smiles. “How is she still little when she’s up to your shoulder?”

“She’ll always be little to me.” Donnic says, gaze drifting to Sophie ahead of them with Maeve. “She’s no soldier.”

“Lost.” Fenris says as they step through the gates. The rain falls a little harder, thunder rumbling overhead. The soldiers would return to the temporary barracks in the Keep, while Winnifred reports to her superior, likely the prince himself, taking Sophie with her. Fenris would go with them. He eyes Sophie’s shoulders as they hunch. “It is a complicated story.”

“Anything to do with that?” Donnic jerks a thumb to the south, where the eerie tear in the sky lingers. Fenris’ face twists as he steps over a puddle.

“Unfortunately.” He says. “Are there any in Kirkwall?” Donnic face darkens. “How many?” .

“Just one in the city.” Donnic says with a sigh. _Venhedis. “The Gallows. Aveline’s closed off the entire area. Were it not for Prince Vael...” Donnic trails off and sighs. Fenris agrees._

In Lowtown, the change is clear. The old damage from the Chantry’s destruction is still healing, ramshackle shacks slowly replaced by finer buildings built by men paid for with Starkhaven wealth and Varric’s charm. But the people are less afraid, no longer as bowed despite the poverty that remains. The stench however, endures the same as it always has.

“Things seem better?” Fenris asks as they turn onto the fastest path to Hightown.

“Some.” Donnic says. “The chantry is being rebuilt, though more humble.” Donnic says with a wry grin. “Sebastian’s idea.”

“Of course.” Fenris says. “How is Aveline handling working with him?”

“She likes it fine, though they sometimes argue. He insists on keepings a closer eye on things and she sometimes takes it personally.”

“Is it personal?” Fenris asks with a smirk and Donnic barks out a laugh.

“No. She gives as good as she gets, and I think he just wants to do his best. We all do, considering…” Donnic’s gaze flicks towards the gap in the city’s silhouette where the chantry once dominated Hightown. If only… Yes, if only. If only Anders hadn’t made his choice to end the lives of hundreds of innocents. If only he didn’t abuse Hawke’s trust. Perhaps if only, Fenris had- He shakes his head.

“Considering. Yes.” Fenris says, the memory of old anger burning in his chest. All those people dead, because of one man’s blind conviction. Hawke’s blade was a mercy he did not deserve. Mood sour, Fenris casts his gaze around Hightown. It fared worse than Lowtown, but that only gave rise to newer buildings. Damage lingers, fine old houses still clad in platforms for repair, all paused for the weather. Ahead of him, Sophie slows her stride, head craning at the pale stone and ostentatious displays. Her brow crinkles as a stiff backed nobleman roughly pushes past.

“Prick.” She mutters and Fenris smirks.

“I think she’ll do well.” Donnic says lightly and they turn towards the keep. Its high walls rise higher and higher until the small group reaches the gates to the courtyard. “Fenris.” Fenris turns, brows lifting in silent question. “Visit. Before Aveline drags you down by your ears. You still owe me from the last game.”

Chuckling, Fenris nods and waves him off. “I’m good for it. I’ll be there. A few days.” He says and follows the soldiers into the keep.

◆

As far as cities goes, Kirkwall is….Creepy.

Maybe it’s all the stories Callum told her lingering in her exhausted head but, no. The vibe is definitely unsettling. High walls, straight vertical lines in the architecture feels like bars on a cell. It’s not the lingering damage, the rubble in the corners of the lower streets. It’s… She can’t put her finger on it. Sophie isn’t sure she wants to. Shivering in her layers, bone tired, the heavy sodden cloak doing nothing to trap warmth, Sophie stares up at the tall stone construction of the keep.

Winnifred’s voice rises over the sound of people, dismissing her men telling them to rest and get warm. Maeve, grinning, pats Sophie on the shoulder.

“We’ll visit you,” she says, nudging Callum in the gut.

“Take you drinking.” Callum offers cheerfully, and Sophie forces a laugh. Sighing, Meave rams Callum in the gut again.

“Get off. Ignore the idiot.” She says and pulls Sophie into a quick hug, arms shockingly strong. “Don’t worry, Prince Vael will help.” Maeve tells her and pulls away. Sophie sighs, giving a wave to the pair as they head for the barracks.

“Sure. The Prince.” She mutters, walking to join Winnifred at the base of the stairs. The very long set of stairs. “So we just walk in?”

“That’s how we ask.” Winnifred answers as Fenris joins them, in a visibly better mood despite the rain. “Come on.” She starts up the stairs. and Sophie groans. God her legs hurt. And her feet. And her back.

“Something the matter?” Fenris asks.

“I hate stairs.” Sophie says and forces her aching legs to start climbing. Fenris laughs softly and keeps pace beside her, not showing a bit of weariness.

The doors ahead, large, reinforced with iron, stand open. Inside, the building is the same granite grey as the outside, thick pillars holding up the high ceiling. Light filters through windows on the wall, glows from braziers, and people… Sophie looks them out the corner of her eyes. Rich clothing, bright fabrics and gold brocade draw the eye and show status, doublets, tall boots and ankle length gowns, damp cloaks dripping on the polished stone floor, men and women in matching armour bearing Kirkwall’s dragon shaped crest. Fourteenth century, she thinks eyes the dress of a woman staring at her in horror. Maybe a dash of fifteenth. She’s too tired to think or do much more than keep walking after Winnifred along the richly red carpet towards that slashes through the foyer.

“Fenris!” A male voice calls out, coming from a man, tall and broad and dressed in grey, ruddy hair slicked away from his warm tawny face. “I take it the hunt went well?” And a brogue like Winnifred’s, not quite Scottish but close enough to Sophie’s ears. He beams down as he descends the steps, meeting Winnifred on the broad landing.

“We were successful.” Fenris answers with a smile befitting his name. Sophie glances away, right into the man’s brilliant blue eyes that pin her in place. He gives a small incline of his head, a gentle smile that promises kindness, before turning his attention back to Fenris.

“Thank the Maker. I grew concerned when the sky started spitting green fire. It’s good to see you both safe.” He beckons, heading back up the stairs. “Come, I’ll take your reports in my office.” Mouth dry, Sophie goes with them, down a long hall to a door the man pushes open. They file in, door closing behind them, into an office that’s strikingly modest compared to everything else Sophie’s seen. A simple wooden desk of sturdy gleaming wood dusted with papers, a few chairs, a big fire and a dark red rug beneath their feet. The only things on the walls are a banner showing Kirkwall’s crest, and books. A statue stands on a small table attended by lit candles. It’s warm, warmer by the fire and she drifts towards it like a moth to a candle. Nearby, on a rack, one of the finest bows Sophie’s ever seen, gleaming polished wood, white leather wrapping around the grip, it’s unstrung string kept in place with a tooled cap on one of the tips. Hell of a longbow.

A low masculine chuckle comes from her left and Sophie starts a little. Fenris’ friend lifts his hands as if in apology. “Forgive me. I should introduce myself.” He offers a hand. “I am Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven.”

Oh. Oh. Well shit, a literal prince charming. Mouth dry, Sophie puts her hand in his. It’s warm, fingers calloused. Likely from the bow is his powerful shoulders were anything to go by.

“Sophie Adler.” She says and thank fuck she doesn’t stutter. “It’s an honour, your highness” Sebastian gives her another warm smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and bends his head in a shallow bow.

“The honour is mine, Serah Adler. And please, you may call me Sebastian.” He lays his other hand on hers, the gesture strangely soothing and guides her to an empty chair by the fire. “Make yourself comfortable.” He says. Sophie sits, wincing as her entire body registers formal and informal complaints. Her feet are probably one giant blister each. Fenris claims the other chair, legs stretched out, flexing his bare toes by the warmth. That earns another laugh from the prince as he moves his focus to Winnifred. “Captain, your report please.”

Winnifred’s speaks with precise clipped words. The cadence of it, and the heat sinking through her cold skin lulls Sophie into an exhausted daze as she listens. There’s numbers, names. Sebastian asks questions. Sometimes Fenris speaks, low voice a pleasant rumble like the thunder outside. Eventually there’s movement. It takes longer than Sophie likes to shake herself out of the fog, and when she does, Fenris is bending down, brows furrowed.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, yeah just… Tired.” Sophie stands, wilfully ignoring the burn in her legs. Fucking stairs. Winnifred and Sebastian were speaking quietly by the door, the Captain bowing and leaving. “What now?”

“Now,” Sebastian says, turning his warm smile on her. “Home. And you can tell us your story.”

-

Home turns out to be the Hawke estate, Hawke being the long skedaddled Champion of Kirkwall, mutual friend of Fenris and the Sebastian, amongst others, and all around badass. As it is now, Sophie will sleep on the floor and be happy so long as it’s warm and dry.

“You are absolutely sure she doesn't mind a complete and utter stranger crashing at her place?” Sophie asks, teeth clattering. The storm above is letting loose, rain pouring down almost loud enough to drown out Sebastian’s reply.

“Before Hawke left, she passed the keys to us,” He holds a waxed sheet of canvas above them like an umbrella. It barely works but Sebastian’s insistence is endearing. “Especially since someone’s roof caved in.” He casts a grin at Fenris’ back.

“You roof caved in?” Sophie asks, and Fenris shakes his head, hair plastered to his scalp. Lightning flashes overhead and the answering crack of thunder is close enough to make her jump. “Shit!”

“Damage from the Chantry’s destruction.” Sebastian explains, herding her after the elf towards a semi-sheltered doorway. “It was already falling apart.”

Sophie gawks at Fenris, as the two swap places.“Dude!” He laughs, the sound drowned out by another rumble, and bends down to speak.

“It was abandoned.” Fenris says and shrugs.

Sophie looks him over, soaked to the skin and terribly amused. “You lived in an abandoned house?”

“Mansion technically.” He nudges her forward, Sebastian holding open the door.

“Dude.” Sophie laughs and steps gratefully through the door into a foyer. Same grey and red decor with the addition of a fire, a few potted plants and a pair of low benches against the left wall. Pulling off her cloak, Sophie turns, peering around the room. Another banner with a crest, scarlet lines entwined into the angular shape of a bird. Sebastian collects their cloaks, hangs them to dry while Fenris scrubs the mud and dirt from his feet.

Sophie’s deciding whether to pull off her muddy boots when another elf with flaxen hair in neat braid that falls over one shoulder. Barefoot like Fenris and about every other elf Sophie’s seen so far, in a modest skirt the colour of sage, cream blouse that bared her shoulders and a waistcoat with a high collar.

“Prince Sebastian,” she smiles, the expression faltering when she spots Sophie. She makes a good recovery, dipping into a small curtsy. “And Serah Fenris, it’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Orana.” Sebastian puts a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “This is Sophie Adler. She’ll be our guest for the next few days.”

On the spot, Sophie waves and Orana’s mouth pulls into a tiny, sweet smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Serah Adler.”

“Sophie, please.” Sophie says as Fenris steps past and into the house. Orana’s smile grows.

“Of course. I have hot tea waiting.” She turns to Sebastian. “I can bring it to you in the library.”

“No need, I think Fenris and I can manage.” The princes says as they walk after Fenris. Sophie unzips her boots, slips them off and pads after them, stepping through to a small open area with stairs leading upwards to a small balcony and doors to the side. Sebastian stood by another door just to the left.“If you would, please help Sophie get warm, perhaps something to wear.”

Sophie smothers a laugh, glancing down at her ruined jeans. “Yes, I would like to not be a walking pile of mud.” Orana looks at her surprised and laughs.

“I may be able to help.”

She leads Sophie up the stairs, through a set of doors to a tiled bathroom, chips of coloured tile and glass on one wall forming a sparkling mosaic of the sea. Lighting candles as she goes from a small lamp, Orana heads to a large copper tub set by a wall, a shelf built into the rock wall covered with an assortment of bottles and dishes. Orana reaches over to a small lever. She pulls, and a pipe lowers away from the wall and with it comes water.

“Huh. Basic plumbing.” Sophie leans over looking at the mechanism. It’s simple, from what little she sees. Orana gives her an odd look.

“Yes, we get the water from covered aqueducts that flow from the mountains. They’re very common in Tevinter.”

“Is that where you’re from?” Sophie asks, glancing at the elf. Her accent sounds a little like Fenris’. An odd look passes over her face, smile fading into something nervous. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no…” Orana gives a weak smile testing the flowing water with the back of her hand. “It’s alright. I did come from Tevinter. I was a slave.”

Sophie’s boots slip from her fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Oh. _Oh_. Orana levers the pipe closed, giving Sophie a faint smile. “Lady Hawke, she saved my life, gave me work when my former mistress brought me here, seeking an escaped slave.” Her eyes glimmer as she looks down at her delicate hands, fingers clenching. “I owe her a great deal.”

“She…” Sophie clears her throat. A slave. That could’ve been her. And so many others. Her hands start to tremble, a storm gathering in her chest. “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She is.” Orana looks at her. “There are no slaves where you are from?”

Sophie starts. That was a loaded question.

“N-. Not so much anymore. Kind of.” She rubs a shaking hand over the back of her neck. “There’s some, many paid very poorly, barely anything they may as well be, but whether they consider it slavery or just reality is… Not for me to say.” Orana nods, leaning over the tub and picking up a small ornately worked silver cylinder.

“Then it is different from here?” She asks, slotting the cylinder into a round depression on the rim of the tub. Head tilting, Sophie leans down to study the odd little key.

“Um, a lot, actually. I think the only thing that might be similar is that people are people. For better or worse.” And her people are… She doesn’t know. The worst-case is unthinkable. And now she’s alone. No. Later. Sophie taps the cylinder and it zaps her. “What’s this?”

“A heat key.” Orana says draping a folded cloth over the raised lip where someone's head might go. “It makes the water hot.” She plucks a bottle from the shelf. “Do you like oil in your bath? Perhaps something to settle your nerves?”

It takes a moment for Sophie’s brain to shift gears. Right. Magic bath key. That’s different. An anxious thread tightens around her chest. “Uh… sure. If you think it’ll help, thank you.”

Orana smiles gently, laying out a small green slice of soap, little bottles of wash for her hair and pressing fresh linens into Sophie’s arms. “You can leave your clothing on the stool. I should have something clean for you to change into after. Is there anything else you need?”

Sophie shakes her head, biting her lip. Need? Much. Too much.

“No, thank you, I-. This is-” The tightness creeps up to her throat and she has to swallow hard. “You’ve all been so-” Her breath catches in her throat. “Kind.” Too kind it feels, unfair while she’s alive and Nathan is not, so many are- She shakes her head. She’s starting to shake, the walls Sophie built around her absolute fear and grief crumbling. If she speaks she’s done for. Orana puts a gentle hand on her arm.

“You are most welcome, serah. You have come a long way, yes?” She blinks her large eyes, smiling gently. “Would you like me to stay?” The tightness in Sophie’s chest starts clawing up her throat. No. No no no. If she’s gonna break down it will be in private where no one can think she’s going crazy.

“N-no. Thank you.” Sophie says. Orana gives her doubtful look but nods.

“I’ll find you something to wear. And a cup of tea.” She says, leaving through the door and closing it gently.

Alone.

Biting her lip, Sophie sets the linen towels down, breathing slow and hard through her nose. The breakdown comes once she’s in the bath, scrubbing off mud and sweat. Her skin is mottled by bruises, scratches and cuts that sting and burn as she scrubs. She hears sobbing, realising only vaguely that the sound comes from her, jagged, desperate gasps that echo off the tiled walls. Somehow, Sophie hauls herself from the tub, wrapping herself in towels, before sitting, sore and aching. Eventually, gentle hands help her stand, guide her from the room through the bracing cold of the hallway to another room, a bed.

Sophie’s head hits the pillow and sleep takes her.


	4. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for lateness and lack of length. The last week has been exceptionally difficult for me.   
> I hope everyone is keeping weel despite the circumstances and that you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> As always love to my proofreader underwaterattribute <3

Chapter 4

Sleep is long, and deep.

Sophie stirs under thick blankets and cool sheets, rain beating gently against a glass window. It could be home. Her bed, her sheets, birds singing their objections to the weather, her cat, Aster, about to make her usual dramatic entrance. Maybe, if Sophie keeps her eyes closed, it’ll just go away. Aster will come bounding into the room, demanding her morning tribute of scritches and food. Sophie’s phone will buzz with a message or some reminder for the day. She’ll get up, make tea in her little kitchen in one of her ridiculous nerdy mugs, check her email for any commission requests while her cat winds around her legs.

Instead, Sophie opens her eyes. It’s dim, the only light a slim beam that cut through a gap in heavy blue curtains. Blinking, Sophie rolls onto her back, stretching out her legs, ignoring the deep ache in her limbs, breathing in slow and deep. Outside of the blankets, the air is cold, scented with dried flowers and beeswax. Around her, dark wood gleams, framing three sides of the mattress making a little alcove of calm and quiet. 

With a sigh, Sophie sits up, crosses her legs and lets out a slow deep breath. This is real. She is alive. Whether she’s okay or not is still up in the air. Breathing slowly, she lets everything wash over her, the deep ache in every muscle, the thirst, head aching from crying herself to sleep. Pressing her hands on the blankets, Sophie arches her back, stretching her arms, her sides until moving wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Pulling open the curtains, Sophie groans, the sunlight filtering through the windows painfully bright. She pulls herself to the edge of the bed, shivering in the cold air. Orana had wrapped her into a thin robe before urging her into bed. She owes her an apology, an explanation, something to make up for the breakdown. Rubbing at her eyes, Sophie slips to her feet, peering around the room. It’s small, high ceilinged, a tall narrow window showing a sliver of a grey covered sky. It was furnished for comfort, thick rugs, wooden furniture, a desk by the window, an armoire against the wall and a bedside table with a lamp and on a cushioned stool, was a small pile of folded fabric. By the door, someone, Orana possibly, had brought Sophie’s things form the bathroom. 

“Well, then.” Sophie says, voice a painful rasp. The first thing is getting dressed, a chemise, a sage woollen skirt and a linen shirt. For her feet, grey stockings made from a wool so finely woven she could barely pick out the threads, tied just under her knees with ribbon. Standing slowly, Sophie rolls out her shoulders, bending to scoop up her bags and heading for the desk by the window. She lays her bow-bag down on top, checking gently for dampness that may have crept through the waterproofing. Hopefully Sebastian could show her somewhere to shoot. Maybe outside? 

Biting her lip, Sophie leans over the desk, peering out the window. The glass was remarkably clear, enough for her to see the courtyard below, a leaning tree casting deeper shadow over the courtyard, a patch of green that went from wall to wall. Something pale darts into view, stark against the green as it bobs and weaves. Sophie leans further, craning her neck until she sees.

Fenris, white hair plastered his skin, bare from the hips up, cuts across the courtyard with swift sure steps, great-sword cutting through the air in graceful arcs. Every swing controlled, every step precise and efficient. Nothing wasted, not even momentum. Even with her subpar swordplay, Sophie can see his skill, far above and beyond any of the sword-masters from her Dad’s living history groups, the lines of his lithe and powerful body emphasised and highlighted by the pale markings twining over his skin. All at once he stops, holding his stance before relaxing with a visible sigh, tilting his head back to the sky, eyes closed as he breathes slow and deep. 

Dropping her gaze, Sophie steps away from the window, a guilty blush rising to her cheeks. She had better manners than that, even if the man was gorgeous. 

A rap comes from the door, and Sophie jumps, whirling around. “Um, yes?”

“Serah Adler?” Orana peeks through a crack in the door before gently swinging it open. “You found the clothes.” She smiles, narrow face softening. “I wasn’t sure you would like them, your own are so very different.” She crosses the room to start fixing the bed. 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” Sophie makes for the covers, only for Orana to wave her off.

“Nonsense, you’re our guest.” The slim elf smiles at her, tucking the blankets into place. “Serah Fenris said you’ve been through much.”

“I… right.” Sophie blushes, rubbing her fingers together. “I wanted to apologise for last night, my uh-” Clearing her throat, Sophie forces a smile to her face. “I wasn’t okay.”

“No, no,” Orana grasps Sophie’s hands, her own seemingly delicate but strong and calloused. “Please, it is alright. You do not have to apologise. I was-” She squeezes Sophie’s fingers, smiling sadly. “When I came to Kirkwall, to this house, I was afraid, and lost. My Papa was gone, I was alone.” She studies Sophie’s face, large eyes the colour of Granny Smith apples and gently tugs her to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was so afraid, I wept every night for a long time. Mis-” Her voice catches, and Sophie gently rubs the back of her hand. “Messere Hawke, she did so much to help me feel safe.”

“Hell of a woman.” Sophie muses gently and Orana nods, a few strands of flaxen hair falling across her brows.

“She was very kind. I don’t know what I’d have done without her.” Smiling sadly, the smaller woman gives a little shake. “Come. I’ll get you some breakfast. You never ate last night, miss.”

The kitchen is familiar and strange at the same time, large ovens by a door that presumably led to a larder, large flat surfaces for working, cupboards and tools of wood and ornately worked iron handles and a broad trough like sink. Orana waves for Sophie to sit at the broad center table, bringing her a little mug as she moves around, humming. 

“You need some help?” Sophie asks, peering at a clay vase with familiar yellow flowers. Marigolds? She likes marigolds.

“Oh no, serah.” Orana sets down a plate, bread from the morning by its smell, cheese, slices of meat and a sweet smelling bun with a sticky looking glaze. “I don’t have much to do.” She says. “You just eat.” Eating doesn’t come easy. Sophie’s stomach churns and twists, settling only once she’s cleared the plate and is halfway through the sweet bun stuffed with honeyed apple. Orana waves off any attempt to clean her plate, refilling Sophie’s mug and slipping away through the far door. 

◆

The damp morning air clings to Fenris’ skin like a second layer, one that lingers as he pulls on a shirt, stepping through the mudroom to the kitchen. By now Orana would be elsewhere in the estate, likely practising with her lute. Sebastian of course had left shortly after dawn to attend to matters at the keep and the woman- Sophie… 

Orana had reappeared the night before, face downcast to tell Sebastian and himself that the woman had gone to bed, only the tightness around the elf maid’s eyes giving away her worry. Whatever happened, it is to be expected, Fenris muses. With no time to face her grief and fear while on the road, it had been just a matter of time before it all became too much. It’s difficult not to feel for her situation, to be so lost somewhere so alien. Fenris sighs, entering the kitchen to find the woman herself seated at the long table, her pale hands clasped around a mug. She looks as worn and sorrowful as he suspects, eyes bruised and weary, her brown hair mused and untamed from sleep, falling over one shoulder. She wears linen and wool, an old shawl Leandra had made draped over her shoulders, looking as if she belongs there, familiar and pleasing to the eye. She blinks slowly, turning to see him paused in the doorway like a deer in a clearing and Fenris clears his throat, adjusting his grip on his great-sword. 

“Good morning.” He says. Sophie’s lips pull into a barely there and rueful smile.

“Is it?” She quips. “Morning. You uh, have fun out there?” 

Fenris frowns, following her glance to his weapon before huffing a soft laugh. “Fun is not the word I’d use.” He strides in, leaning the weapon by the wall and taking a seat across from her, pouring from the teapot on its warming stand. “Did you get any rest?”

Sophie’s brow crinkles and she visibly withdraws as she nods. “Some. Kinda just passed out. Great first impression I think.” She says and takes a sip. “Sorry. I suppose you and Sebastian wanted me to explain things.”

“It can wait.” Fenris says. “Sebastian will not return until the evening, and I have no affairs to attend to. You need not rush for us.” Another ghost of a smile crosses her lips and Sophie nods.

“Fair. I guess I should ask you then. There wouldn’t happen to be archery targets in that little courtyard would there?” She asks, glancing at Fenris’ sword.

“Archery targets. No. Why would you need them?”

She gives him a sheepish look. “I should probably show you.” Sophie says, standing. Taking their mugs, Fenris follows, eyes on her form. There’s a little stiffness in how she moves, weariness, he supposes. Sophie had made no complaint during their trek to Kirkwall until their talk on the outskirts. And the stairs. But she looks better, the clean clothes flattering her form, strong shoulders, sturdy hips and a pleasing softness. He shakes his head. She does not deserve leering. Pausing outside of the guest room Fenris sips the fragrant tea Orana preferred, watching Sophie open her queer grey bag with an odd ripping sound. From the bag she lifts a curved bow, glossy and well loved. Sophie gives him an impish smile as she turns it in her hands. 

“You never said you carried a weapon.” Fenris leans his shoulder against the door frame with a wry smirk. Sophie snorts.

“No one asked. And I figured I was safe enough in the company of a man that could put Cloud Strife to shame.” Fenris frowns and Sophie shakes her head. “Reference. Don’t mind me.”

Arching a brow, Fenris steps into her room, studying the bow and the other contents of her bag. A leather quiver, arrows with odd, bright fletching. “Sebastian would be the one to ask. Though perhaps I may know another that could help.” 

Sophie lifts her brows. “I did think he would. Those shoulders and that long bow? Boy’s a shooter.” She runs her hands over the glossy wood, coloured a lovely shade of green through whatever means her people used. But still, melancholy hung around her, dimming her smile. 

“Then, perhaps if you feel ready,” Fenris says, offering her her mug of tea. Perhaps a distraction would be of help. “I have a friend I mean to visit. If you wish to accompany me?” 

Sophie’s face goes flat for a moment, before a spark of humour returns. “I dunno,” she says. “Got an awful lot on my plate. Mournful wailing, staring out the window.” She flicks him a playful look at Fenris chuckles.

“You could do some wailing on the way?”

Sophie grins. “Deal.”

-

Donnic and Aveline made their home on the modest outskirts of Hightown, near a bustling market square. His sword on his back, Fenris carves an easy path through the crowd, Sophie keeping step with her strung bow in it’s leather holder. It is never foolish to be prepared, and despite the changes, this is still Kirkwall. 

The house itself stands on a little side street, children running in between passing folk. A girlish shriek splits the air, making Fenris wince before a blur of sunny yellow cloth darts towards them. 

Beth leaps at Fenris’ legs with a delighted cry. Fenris dips, catching the girl and swinging her up, ignoring the whoop as the girl clings to his shoulders. 

“Fenris! Papa said you were back! You’re visiting!” She squeezes him with her small arms, and Fenris pats her back, craning his head to regard the girl. She has dirt smeared on her nose. 

“I am.” Fenris says. “Is your father home?” Beth nods, brown hair bouncing. Her smile vanishes, the girl ducking as if to hide. Fenris frowns, following her frightened gaze to Sophie, waiting awkwardly behind them. She gives Fenris an apologetic smile. 

“I scare kids. I’m used to it.” 

Fenris sighs. “Beth, this is Sophie. She’s lost. Do you think you could say hello?” The girl in his arms shakes her head, hiding her face against his shirt. “Do not be rude.”

The girl makes a sound of complaint before waving at Sophie. “Hello, serah.” 

“Hello, Beth.” Sophie says gently, and the girl hides her face again. “See?” Sophie says with a crooked smile. With a shake of his head, Fenris hoists the girl higher against his side and heads for then Hendyr home. The door swings open at his knock, carrying with it the scent of the hearth fire and flowers from potted blooms by the window. 

“Donnic?” He calls, setting down Beth, who releases him reluctantly, running further in towards the kitchen.

“Papa! Fenris is here!” 

“I hear that, Bethy,” Donnic answers as Fenris shrugs off his weapon and leans it by the door. The man himself appears grinning. “Usually I have to drag you here, Fenris.”

“I thought I’d save you the effort.” Fenris says stepping aside. “Donnic, this is Sophie Adler. Sophie, this is Donnic Hendyr. A friend.”

“Hi,” Sophie waves and Donnic nods, walking forward.

“Hello, please, come in. Welcome.” He ushers the woman in, closing the door. “You’re not stuck with this cantankerous ass are you?” He asks. Sophie blinks, looking at Fenris and Donnic laughs, Fenris shaking his head. 

“He thinks he’s funny.” He says.

“Funnier than you.” Donnic grins. To Sophie he gestures at the hooks by the door. “You can hang your weapons here, Serah. You’re safe in this house.”

Donnic takes them into the kitchen, tossing down a deck of cards on the broad, clean table. Fenris sits, taking the deck, shuffling them idly as Sophie takes her own seat, looking around the room. 

“So, Fenris tells me you’re from one of those rifts.” Donnic says, sitting with a plate of cheese and a jug that smells faintly of ale. 

“Uh, yeah.” Sophie says shifting in her chair, frowning at the cards in Fenris’ hands. He flicked them out one by one to each of them. “Kinda lost as hell, uh…” She looks at one of the cards and then back to Fenris. “Cards. Really?” She asks, voice flat. 

“It’ll pass the time.” He says, ignoring Donnic’s eye roll. “Donnic is a guardsman, his wife Aveline the captain. There’s targets for training at the guardhouse.” Cards dealt, he gathered his hand

“Oh.” 

“It’s a fine bow, from what I saw of it.” Donnic says pouring ale into wooden cups. “And since Fenris here can’t be bothered to ask, I don’t see why you couldn’t borrow one.” He offers Sophie a cup, and Fenris huffs, taking his own. 

“I thought it’d be better to wait.” He sips, glancing up at the sound of thudding feet and loud giggles coming from the floor above. To Sophie he leans closer, showing his hand. “The game is Wicked Grace. Donnic plays fair so I wouldn’t worry.”

Sophie frowns at him, looking at her own cards. “Are either of you planning on teaching me to play or is it mock the Earth-Girl day?” Across the table, Donnic laughs.

“You’ll fit in, Sophie. Here’s the rules…”

Sophie takes to it quickly, despite her claims. She loses more than she wins, but there’s talk enough to keep the sorrow from her face, Donnic telling stories that Fenris huffs at and corrects. At some point the two children come downstairs, climbing into their father’s lap, little Beth holding a wooden sword modelled after her mother’s. As the light changes heading for later afternoon, Fenris and Sophie depart with promises to visit again. Fenris leads them on a winding path, paying for warm buns stuffed with slow roasted meat for them to eat.

As they pass into the Noble’s quarter, Sophie hums. “I’ll give you points for subtlety.” She says gently.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Fenris answers, striding through a scandalised pair of nobles. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Sophie snort and hides a smirk. “Donnic did ask me to drop by. He’s a good man. He will help should you need it.” 

“Seems like. Cute kids too.” Sophie says darting around a wealthy man that sneered at her simple garb. She made a rude gesture at his back. “Dick.” 

Fenris snorts, smirking. “I would have thought you’d be used to such people.” At her frown, he shrugs. “Nobles, the wealthy. From your clothing I thought…” He trails off at Sophie’s quizzical expression.

“That I was wealthy?” She blinks, tugging at the harness that straps her quiver to her back. “Oh fuck no. I had two jobs, lived with a housemate I never saw because she was working all the time. Money was tight when I was kid too.” Sophie shrugs. “Guess I should be flattered you thought that.”

Ears burning, Fenris shakes his head, willing his embarrassment not to show. “An assumption I should not have made. I know nothing of your world.”

Sophie hums. “It’s fine. No context, no frame of reference.” She laughs softly. “If it helps? I think judgemental assholes like that guy can eat a dick.” 

Fenris stops mid-stride, Sophie’s words sinking in. An unbidden laugh bubbles from his chest, bursting from his mouth before he could stop it. He cuts it off with a cough, meeting Sophie’s amused gaze.

“I… We should move on.” Fenris says, lengthening his stride, Sophie’s quiet laugh chasing after him. 

Sophie excuses herself to her room once they return to the estate, thanking Fenris with a smile before turning to climb the stairs. He instead finds himself a place in Hawke’s library, a book taking up his focus until someone sets a mug down on the arm of his chair. Sebastian, a grave expression on his face, sighs as he sinks onto a matching high-backed chair.

“I have bad news, I’m afraid.” He says with a sigh, cupping his hands around his own mug. Fenris closes his book, sitting up from his slouch.

“More?” He asks.

Sebastian gives a humourless smile. “You’ve heard news of Divine Justinia’s conclave in Haven?” Sebastian says.

“To bring peace between mages and templars.” Fenris’ lips twist. “I have.” Most of the circles have fallen, abandoning mages that wanted nothing to do with Anders’ war for freedom to the cold and unleashing the rebels onto Thedas. “You have news?”

Sebastian nods, blue eyed gazes drifting to the fire. “There was an explosion. No one knows the cause, but…” He sighs, breath shuddering. “The Divine is dead, hundreds more.”

“Fasta vas” Fenris hisses. Sebastian nods.

“And worse, whatever did it tore open a whole to the fade. The Left Hand of the Divine calls it the Breach.” He says. Fade. Breach… Maker…

“That’s what caused the-”

“Shockwave from the south.” Sebastian says. “And the rifts. And the people falling through them. Strangely dressed, speaking tongues no one recognises. Many suffer grievous wounds.”

“Burns?” Fenris asks.

“Some. As if by dragon fire.” At once Fenris is back in that field, the stink of burning flesh thick in the air, the last rattling gasps of a woman dead on her knees loud in his ears.

“This is far more widespread than I thought.”

“Aye. Whatever power brought them here, it seems Miss Adler is very fortunate.” Sebastian sips his tea, hands cradled around the mug. A thoughtful smile crosses his lips. “You seem rather taken with her.”

Taken? Fenris bristles. “I barely know the woman.”

“No, but you have been kind to her.” Sebastian’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement and Fenris makes a sound of disgust.

“You’re teasing. There’s nothing there.” He says opening his book.

“Of course, my friend. Of course.” Sebastian sighs. “Perhaps we should ask Sophie what she knows, if anything.”

Fenris arches a brow and hums. Perhaps. Perhaps comes soon enough once Sophie appears, holding a slim brown book in her hand, hesitating in the doorway. 

“Hi,” She smiles gently, running a hand over her brushed and braided hair. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

Not at all, Sophie.” Sebastian says rising to offer a hand. “Please, sit with us.” 

“Sure,” She sinks down onto the couch, curling up her stockinged feet beneath her skirt. Her eyes are red, the skin beneath them a little puffy. She’s been crying. Oh. Fenris swallows hard. Sebastian passes Sophie a mug, refills Fenris’ and then his own. 

“Are you feeling better?” He asks once Sophie’s taken a sip. She swallows, eyes closed and highs, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“Yeah. I…” Sophie nods. “I needed that. Thank you, Sebastian.” 

“You’re welcome.” The prince says, glancing at Fenris, who mulishly focuses on his book. “I’m afraid I must press you for this, serah. Could you tell me what happened, how you came to arrive in Thedas?”

Over the edge of the page, Fenris watches Sophie’s face grow distant. She nods, sips her tea and takes in a slow breath, 

Sophie tells them. Quietly, carefully, eyes on the rug before her. She was a scholar at a University, running tutorials on writing short stories. Nathan was a student, who always arrived early and helped her set up the class room. And then sirens, telling them to leave. War, she says, distant. They never thought it would strike home until it did. They had to run down stairs, fight to keep their feet in a panicked crowd. 

Sophie’s hand shakes as she lips the mug to her lips. “I hoped it was just a false alarm. We all did, I think.” She says.

“What were you running from? An army?” Sebastian asks. Sophie’s lips pull into a humourless smile that makes Fenris’ stomach jerk. 

“No. Think of it like… weapons. That fall from the sky.” Sophie mimes something falling and bursting apart. “We had to get to shelter.” Sophie was pushed, hit her head. “Which is why I was covered in blood when he met.” She says with false cheer, smiling at Fenris. He forces himself to smile in return. Nathan helps her stand. They keep running. Something big and loud knocks them to their knees, dust falls. They keep running. Sophie sees green light.

She takes another sip. “Next thing I know I’m in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Nathan and I find some shelter. We get woken up by slavers, walked to a cave and Nathan dies because I opened my mouth.” Sophie lifts her mug. “Skål.” She says and drains it. Fenris and Sebastian share a look, the prince’s mouth open. Fenris knew something happened. But that?

“I…” Sebastian begins. “And your family?”

“Might be dead.” Sophie puts down her mug and tears open a sticky bun. She sniffs, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes. “Dad, Gran, Aunt Karina, my friends…” She looks at them both and waves a hand. “Look, I am not your problem. Either of you.”

“Perhaps not,” Sebastian says. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she freezes. He pulls his hand away. “But I would not be here were it not for someone’s willingness to make my problems their own.”

“Nor would I.” Fenris says gently. Sophie meets his gaze. Her chin trembles. 

“Look,” Sophie starts.

Sebastian lifts a hand.“Miss Adler, I understand if you wish to find your own path, but I cannot in good conscience do anything less than offer you my help. The Maker asks us to be charitable, to be kind.” He says and refills her mug with some more tea. “At the very least, allow me to write to someone that may be able to give you more answers.”

Sophie swallows and after a moment, she nods. “Thank you.” She says, and a tightness he isn’t even aware of eases in Fenris’ chest. Sophie’s eyes settle on him. “Both of you.” He smiles. “So,” Sophie pats Sebastian’s arm and fixes a crooked smile on Fenris. “What’s this about squatting in an abandoned mansion for years?”

 _Fasta vas_. 

True to his word, Donnic brings a target the next afternoon, setting it up with Sophie’s help in the courtyard. Leaning against the door to the mudroom, Fenris watches Sophie slip on her equipment. A quiver on her back, a harness on her chest and a glove on her left hand. No brace on her arm and only a strange ring on her right thumb.

“A small bow.” Donnic comments as Sophie strings her weapon with smooth practised motions.

She snorts. “Don’t need a big one for everything.” She says with a grin. “Besides,” Sophie raises her voice as she draws and relaxes her bow, warming the limbs. “Bigger isn’t always better.” She says flashing Fenris a cheeky grin.

He smirks, standing and striding to join them. “It isn’t. So long as you hit the mark.”

“You think I can’t?” Sophie quips. She reaches to the back of her quiver, pulling an arrow free from a gap towards the bottom, twirling it between her fingers.

“A target is easy.” Fenris says, glancing at a frowning Donnic. The arrow between Sophie’s fingers stops.

“And people aren’t.” Her lips press into a line as she nocks her arrow and draws, aims and releases. The arrow strikes the middle of the target, punching deeper than Fenris expected. “Is this the part where you two warn me about the dangers of this world because I got that the first day.” Fenris and Donnic blink and Sophie winces, muttering under her breath. “Sorry. Not fair. Just, “ she says, drawing another arrow and nocking, curling her thumb around the string, her forefinger hooking over the top and adjusting her stance. “I’m already painfully aware that I’m an easy target, I’m not trained for… Real fights are rare back home. Neither of you, capable warrior dudes, need to rub that in.”

“That was not my intention.” Fenris says gently. “Nor Donnic’s.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sophie says. “That was completely unfair.”

“Bah, it’s no bother.” Donnic says, gently patting her shoulder. “The hard part is learning to shoot. I’m sure Fenris could help with the rest.” He gives a broad grin that makes Fenris scowl. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen Fenris fight,” She draws her bow again. “Not sure I’m ready to get my ass handed to me just yet.” She looses, arrow hitting the target with a thunk and Donnic lets out a low whistle.

“He’ll start you easy.” He says, still grinning.

“No, I-” Fenris starts. 

“I know our Fenris is a surly grouse,” Donnic continues and Fenris sighs, stepping forward, reaching for the other man. Donnic darts around Sophie, putting her between the two men. “But he has a soft heart, I promise you.”

“Donnic,” Fenris growls, grabbing for the man and he ducks away again. Sophie’s laughter rings out, echoing off the stone walls as the guardsman slips behind her, just out of reach. 

“Now, now, Fenris. Let’s not scare the young lass,” Donnic grins over her shoulder and Fenris huffs, waving him away. 

“Then leave her be, you’re acting like a fool.” 

“I do no such thing.” Donnic replies, leaning his arm on Sophie’s shoulder as she giggles and hand over her mouth. Fenris curses under his breath, running a hand over his hair. 

“It is not a poor idea.” He says eventually. If what she fears is true, her home lost, knowing how to defend herself would be necessary. She’s a fine shot, but once an enemy slips into close range? “Sebastian would be of better help, though he has much to manage.” Rubbing his chin, Fenris looks at the woman. “But if you are willing to learn?” She runs her hands over her bow, biting her lower lip as she stares at the target, brows furrowed over her bespectacled eyes.

“Yes.” Sophie says, and turns her gaze to Fenris. “I am.”

Flicking his gaze to Donnic, Fenris nods. “Tomorrow then. We’ll begin.”


	5. Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much love and credit to my proofreader, Underwaterattribute.

Chapter 5

Having the promise of help, even if it comes in the form of a very capable warrior handing her ass to her, removes some of the weight from Sophie’s shoulders. Not all by any stretch of the imagination if the lingering vice around her chest was anything to go by.

But it’s a start. A relief. She grabs it with both hands and runs. Pacing back and forth around the small courtyard, cool spongy grass beneath her feet, the scent of flowers and herbs rich in her lungs, Sophie loses herself in her practice. Arrow from her quiver, nock to string, draw, loose. From her knees, from behind, as she walks and pivots until a familiar ache returns to her arms and back. Rolling out her shoulders, Sophie pads to the target and starts collecting her arrows, checking each for any damage.

Out the corner of her eye, she sees white and grey, someone watching, booted feet on the slate paving encircling the green sanctuary. Hmm. Not Fenris. He left… Sophie frowns. How long ago did he leave? Whatever. Pulling the last of her arrows free, Sophie returns them to her quiver and stands, stretching her arms above her head with a groan.

Footsteps approach over the grass. “Are you alright?” Sebastian asks, voice gentle, as if speaking to an easily started horse.

Sophie nods, dropping her arms, forcing her fingers to relax around her bow. “Yeah, better now.” She shrugs. “Kind of.”

Sebastian chuckles. “I often found emptying a quiver or two helps clear my head.” He’s smiling, impossibly blue eyes bright. “The way you draw your bow, I’ve not seen the like.”

“Oh,” Sophie looks down at her hand, to the ring of bone around her thumb. “Yeah it’s a thumb draw, from cultures that use a horse bow. Turkish, Hungarian, Mongolian. Gives better control while mid ride.” She says, demonstrating much to Sebastian’s visible delight.

“Perhaps I could attempt it under your guidance.” He says, straightening with a smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes. “Fenris did mention you were an archer, though he failed to mention your skill.”

Heat blooms in Sophie’s cheeks and she ducks her head, fiddling with her archery glove. Damned charming prince.. “Well, I don’t show off in front of folks usually.”

“There’s no shame in showing humility,” Sebastian murmurs. “Serah, I wondered perhaps if we could speak?”

Sophie’s hands stop moving, her stomach sinking. Ah. There it is. Pulling in a slow breath, she braces herself, before looking at him with brows raised.

“Shoot.”

Sebastian’s lips quirk. He clears his throat. “Orana tells me you’ve been rather anxious. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“All things considered?” Sophie asks. That’s a hell of a question. She straightens, putting the arrow in hand back into her quiver. “I’ve been better. Been worse.” The answer doesn’t seem to reassure Sebastian, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re afraid.” He says. “And you have every reason to be.”

“Then why ask?” Sophie says stepping around him. She needs a drink. She left her water bottle by the other end of the courtyard.

“I would be a poor host if I did not show concern for my guest.” Sebastian says, following, his long strides catching up with her easily. He’s taller than she initially thought. Sophie’s mouth dries as he lingers by her as she bends to pick up her bottle. “But more, the path you’ve travelled has not been easy.”

“True.” Sophie cracks open the lid as she straightens, takes a few deep sips. “That’s not a reason to help me. Or even trust me.”

“It isn’t, no,” Sebastian says. “But I trust Fenris and his instinct, I trust that you’ve been here with a defenceless woman and caused her no harm.”

Sophie’s fingers grip her bottle tighter. “Could be biding my time.” It’s a marvel her voice doesn’t crack.

“Are you?” Sebastian asks, calm, patient, arms held behind his back.

Sophie swallows, shakes her head. “No,” he breath catches in her throat. “No, I’m about as lost and scared as you’d expect. And then some.”

“Which makes it hard to know who to trust.” Sebastian says with a gentle sigh, pacing across the grass. “I understand. I’ve not quite been in your place, but I understand.” Sophie eyes his back as the prince lifts his face up to the afternoon sun. “Years ago my father sent me to the Chantry, to make amends for the hellion I was. I was content to be a brother.” He gives a humourless laugh. “My family was murdered. Were it not for the aid of Hawke, I don’t know if I would have survived. I certainly would not have become prince of my homeland.”

“Hawke helped you out.” Sophie says.

“Aye,” Sebastian turns to regard her. “I had no idea why she would until I came to know her. Only that she chose to do so. Just as she chose to aid Fenris, Isabela, Merrill.” He grimaces. “Even Anders.”

“He’s the one that…”

“Destroyed Kirkwall’s Chantry, took the lives of the only family I had left and hundreds more, if not thousands by now.”

Sophie hugged her bow. She licked her lips. “Yeah, that.”

Sebastian chuckles. “Yes. It remains; without Hawke’s kindness and help, I would not be here. Consider this my way of passing the kindness on.” He crosses the green to place a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You have my most solemn promise that you will come to no harm from me. That so long as you need my help, I will give it.”

Sophie searches his eyes, his face. She’s never been good at figuring out the subtleties of expression, how to read flickers of emotion. Sebastian’s face is steady, brilliant blue eyes locked onto her. It’s too much to hold his gaze. Sophie looks away, tapping her fingers on her bow. If he’s lying… But he’s been kind. Honest, Sophie thinks. He wasn’t walked into her space like he owns it, demanded she meet his gaze, or implied she owes him. Most of all, she can’t go forward without his help. Which means trust. She nods.

“So beyond letting me stay here, what are we going to do?” Sophie asks.

Sebastian smiles. “We start with a letter. Come.”

He leads her to the library, pulling a chair over to the small writing desk before taking his own seat. Sophie un-strings her bow, watching as he lights a small writing lamp and dips a metal tipped quill into ink.

“Late Divine Justinia, who passed on the same night you arrived,” Sebastian starts, “has two aides, you could say. Hands of the Divine. Sister Nightingale is one.”

“And you think she’d have answers?”

Sebastian huffs a silent laugh. “Perhaps not answers, but information perhaps. Certainly greater resources at hand.” He starts laying down letters, flowing and neat despite the angular shapes. Almost runic, but definitely unfamiliar. _Shit._ “At least we can find if any others like you survive, and perhaps what they know of your home.” Sebastian says, sparing her an almost apologetic look.

Sophie sighs, leaning back in her chair. “Which will put ups back at square one. But we’ll know it’s square one.”

“Maker forbid.” Sebastian says, quill scratching on the parchment. “Nevertheless, I will send this tomorrow and await her answer. It’ll take a week, perhaps two depending on the trouble in Haven. Whatever comes, how we proceed is your decision.”

“Mm.” Choice. Act on whatever Sister Nightingale sends them. Or stay the ward of Sebastian. Or somehow strike out on her own. How, she has no idea. She has no resources, no roots, no support network. She’s lucky Trade is close enough to English for her to follow along and guess at any unique word or phrase, luckier still someone came and struck down the slavers. Otherwise… She shudders.

“A problem?” Sebastian asks.

“Just, contemplating what choices I have.” She says, looking over the letter and it’s foreign script. “Which has gotten a little more limited.” Sebastian’s brows rise and she nods to the parchment. “Can’t read your alphabet. So that makes me effectively illiterate. Yay.” Sophie says flatly.

“Ah.” He says before smiling. “Well, fortunately, that’s something I can help with.”

He starts her with children’s books and a slate, patiently waiting for her to collect her notebook and pen from her room.

“Letters first.” Sebastian says with a smile once she’s ready, sparing a curious glance at her fountain pen. They go letter by letter, pairing each with the right sound and simple words. There’s not always a fitting match, certain trader letters standing for sounds she needs two letters to describe.

“It’s still common in some alphabets,” She tells him once they have the alphabet down. “And older ones.”

“Such as?” Sebastian asks. She smiles, draws a shape on the slate, a straight vertical line, a triangle on the side.

“Thurizas. Th. A Scandinavian rune, then Anglo-Saxon amongst others.”

Sebastian hums. “Interesting.” He taps the slate. “Focus.” Sophie laughs. Words follow, simple nouns and verbs and sentences in a children’s collection of short tales, mostly centered around a mabari. Apparently a very intelligent breed of dog. All the while, Sebastian remains a patient teacher, gently correcting her errors, answering any questions, eventually leaving Sophie muddle through it.

Her head aches by the time Orana fetches her for dinner, the slim elf giving her a sympathetic smile as she leads Sophie to the kitchen.

“It’s hard isn’t it? Making sense of all those shapes.” She says gently. Sophie nods, rubbing her fingers over her scalp. That makes sense, considering her past.

“Did Hawke teach you?” Sophie asks and Orana nods, leading Sophie to the kitchen.

Dinner is roast vegetables with herbs, apple slices and raisins cooked in a little honey and wine, fresh grilled fish paired with pastries stuffed with spinach and a soft white cheese like ricotta. Sophie favours the first bite, picking out flavours she knows from those she doesn’t. Oregano, rosemary, pepper mingling with something smoked. Garlic maybe. She hums, closing her eyes.

“Do you like it?” Orana asks over her own plate.

“Marry me.” Sophie answers through a mouthful of parsnip and carrots. Sebastian chokes on his water and Sophie opens her eyes, catching a blush on Orana’s cheeks. Forcing herself to swallow. “Joking. Yes. This is very, very delicious.”

The slim elf beams, eyes bright. “Mistress Hawke would tease. She would sometimes say the same thing.”

“Oh good, so I haven’t given a gross insult.” Sophie quips, prodding at her fish. Sebastian gives her a despairing look while Orana giggles behind a hand. Sophie grins. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

At the far end of the kitchen, the mudroom door swings open and a damp Fenris pauses, eyeing the spread.

“Fish.” He says flatly.

Sebastian sighs. “Yes, Fenris. Fish.” He says. The elf grunts, taking a seat beside Sophie, waving away Orana’s hands to serve himself.

“The rest smells good.” He says and Orana’s smile returns.

“Tastes good too.” Sophie says, nudging his elbow with hers and Fenris’ lips curve into a barely there smile.

He joins her later in the library, sinking down on the rug with two glasses of wine. Sophie takes the offered drink, brow arched and Fenris shrugs, peering at her notes and the pen in her hand.

“You are writing?” He asks.

“Studying.” Sophie says, lifting the children’s book. “Don’t know the alphabet used so Sebastian taught me.”

“Hm.” Fenris sips his wine. “And how goes it?”

“Slow.” Sophie says snipping at the dark red brew. A good red, deep and faintly fruity. She takes a hesitant sip. A little dry, but rich. And potent she suspects. “But I’ll get there.” Repeated words are getting familiar at least.

“It will come.” Fenris says, answering her look with another shrug. “Your people have their own alphabets? You wrote in your book in the evening while we travelled. Different letters should be of little difficulty.”

Sophie cocks her head. Was that a compliment? “I guess. It’s mostly exposure and practice.”

Fenris hums again. “A curious instrument. Your quill.” He gives a clarifying nod to her pen. “It holds the ink within?”

“Sure does.” Sophie holds out her fountain pen, a translucent barrelled demonstrator with a fine steel nib, the dark, ironically wine red ink visible inside. “The coloured bit on the end controls the mechanism that draws ink into the barrel.” Fenris peered at it, leaning on a hand.

“And when it runs empty?” His gaze flicks to her, his brilliant green eyes glinting in the firelight. Sophie winces.

“I’ve been trying not to think about that. I have a couple bottles of ink in my bag but once they’re gone…” She sighs. “I’ll have to try making my own. I have a recipe somewhere.” Somewhere being her laptop. Which is upstairs. And would probably need a good recharge with the solar battery pack. Add that to the list. At some point she comes back to Fenris watching her, visibly amused by whatever expressions were crossing her face and Sophie scowls and takes another sip of wine.

Fenris laughs gently. “With luck you’ll manage.”

“Mmrmph.” Sophie answers and shoves the pen at him. “You wanna try using it?” He gawks at her, slowly accepting wrapping longer fingers around the pen, white-blue lines glowing against the acrylic.

“My letters, they’re not very neat.” Fenris says.

“You could scribble and I wouldn’t mind. It’s just to see how it feels. Don’t have to press with a fountain pen.”

Fenris hums, putting nib to page and slowly drawing a wobbly line. And then another. And then a few letters Sophie had to squint to recognise. F E N- She smiles into her wine. Comforting to know people are still people. The elf makes a thoughtful sound, offering back her pen.

“It is pleasant.” He says. Sophie smiles.

“I like it. Thank you for indulging.” She says, replacing the pen cap and setting the pen and books aside.

Fenris gives her a funny look. “You are welcome, I suppose.” After a long sip, he licks his lips. “I did not ask before. What did you do, before all this?”

“You mean my job?” Sophie asks. At his nod, she shifts, crossing her legs under her wool skirt. “Well, one job was at an archery range. Mostly running the desk or helping people. The other one was teaching life drawing, which is learning to draw what you see.”

Fenris’ brows rise. “You’re an artist?”

“Kind of?” Cheeks starting to warm, Sophie flicked back through her notebook until she found a few sketches, a view from her window, an Ibis from Southbank, and small rushed studies of the men and women that brought her to Kirkwall. She slid the notebook towards Fenris who picked it up, looking intently at the pages. As he turned through them, Sophie fiddled with the stem of her glass, biting the inside of her cheek. There was a sketch of him in there, following the lines on his skin, his distinct profile and proportions. What would he think? Would he be flattered? Annoyed? Hard to tell with him, the crinkle to his brow not uncharacteristic.

After a few more minutes, Fenris turns the book to her, pointing at one sketch sprawled across the page, dark ink describing mechanical shapes, wheels, exhaust.

“What is this?” He asks.

“That is a motorcycle.” Sophie says. “Mode of transport. An engine here,” She taps the right part, “turns this wheel which makes it move. You ride in the back and control it with the handles.” Fenris grunts, dark brows pulling over his eyes. This close Sophie can see the black lashes framing them, the fine lines at the outer corners and on either side of his full lips. It’s a lovely face, sharp and expressive. Even now her fingers itch to draw it. Fenris looks up and Sophie can see flecks of gold in the green of his eyes.

“How does it stay upright?” He asks. Sophie blinks. Wait. Upright. Oh, the bike.

“Oh, uh, momentum and balance. Start moving forward and it’ll stay up mostly on its own.”

Fenris nods, pulling the book back to continue his perusal, lightly running his fingers over the edge of every page as he studies the doodles and words. When her glass is empty, Sophie takes back her book, Fenris looking surprised and almost guilty for looking so long.

“You’re very good.” He says, staring into the fire, white hair falling across his eyes.

“I can show you more tomorrow if you ask me nicely.” Sophie answers, teasing. It’s worth the pleased little smile he gives her before bidding her goodnight.

It’s a nice smile. She tries not to think about it as she drifts to sleep.

◆

Sophie beats him to the courtyard the next day. The sound of arrows striking the target reach his ears as he slips through the mudroom to the outside. She fires quickly, going through four arrows gripped in her hand as she paces forward and back, comfortable easy steps, her hair, pulled into a loose tail swaying with every move.

It’s what she’s wearing that makes him pause. Orana must have procured some simple trousers from Carver’s old clothing, the loose grey fabric cinched around her waist with a small belt and hasty stitches. Higher though, she wears a form fitting tube of green fabric that bares her arms and shoulders, giving him a view of her upper back as she draws and looses. Sophie turns, Fenris admires her control and focus, gaze lingering only a moment at the swell of her chest before he clears his throat.

Sophie pauses and nods to him.” Morning.” If she noticed his staring, she says nothing of it, moving to collect her arrows.

“Morning. I thought we should begin.” Fenris says holding up the iron cored wooden practice swords he procured, again with Donnic’s help. Sophie nods, returning her arrows to her quiver. A spray of colour over her left bicep catches his eye, a twisting winding pattern of blue forming the the shape of an animal encircled by twining lines. Pulling his gaze away, Fenris waits for Sophie to set down her bow and remove her quiver before offering the hilt of one practice blade.

“Diving right in are we?” Sophie asks, hesitation clouding her smile.

“Would you rather we didn’t?” Fenris asks and Sophie shakes her head, pacing away, taking a few practice swings. There’s a little knowledge there, how to stand, how to balance herself on her bare feet as she turns to face him. Fenris takes a moment to circle her. There’s more ink on her skin, text curling around the inside of her right arm twined with a flower. He shakes his head, focusing on her stance and nods. “Let’s see what we have.” He says, spinning his own practice blade and lunging.

Sophie startles, barely bringing her sword to deflect, too slow for a real fight. Fenris lunges again and she deflects, backing up, a little faster, large eyes wide and focused on him. Fenris strikes again, and again, testing, and slowly Sophie gains speed, any doubt in her limbs fading. Her blade strikes his shoulder and Fenris grunts, rolls with it, speeding his movements.

Several minutes of this pass, Fenris slowly escalates the speed of his strikes until Sophie lets out a frustrated growl and bats his blade away.

“You’re going easy on me.”

Fenris blinks. “You’d rather I beat you?”

Her lips press together as she seeks the words in her mind, adjusting her grip. “I want you to show me what I’m up against. Where I need to be. If I’m going to do this, I’d rather do it without the training wheels.”

Odd phrase, but he’s sure he understands the meaning. “Very well.”

He swings, fast feinting to her left. Sophie lets out a startled yelp before darting around him, blade raised. Fenris gives chase, lunging, swinging, Sophie blocking him only barely, stumbling back out of his reach. Fenris darts close, blade against hers and shoves and Sophie falls, landing with a thump on the grass. Fenris leans over her, studying her face. There’s surprise, worry, and finally determination, burning behind her eyes.

“Better?” Fenris asks.

“Much.” Sophie says and kicks. Her foot fights his knee and Sophie rolls, rising and swinging at him. Clever. Fenris ducks, counters and smacks the wood blade against her side. She winces, swears, and instead of retreating, lunges at him, darting to one side as he counters. She’s fast. Fenris pivots, blocking her next flurry of attacks, smacking her again with his blade, this time on the thigh. Bold. Daggers would suit her better, he thinks as he catches her next swing, twists his grip and pulls her blade from her hands and hooks his arm around her throat. Sophie stumbles against him, gripping his arm, twisting before going still with a muttered curse.

Her chest heaves, and Fenris gives her a moment to simply breathe and collect herself. He takes the chance for himself, sweeping his gaze over the tall grey walls before turning back to her.

“Now do you have an idea?” He asks. Sophie nods.

“Yeah,” she pants, nudging his gut with her elbow. Fenris releases her, stepping away and Sophie groans, running her hands over her hair. “Shit. I’m so fucked.”

Fenris pulls a face. Not the word he wants to think of. “You are at risk, yes, but you’re fast. You know how to move.” At her disbelieving look, he shrugs. “It’s a beginning.”

“You’re barely breathing hard!” She says, waving at him.

“I am not, no.” Fenris sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, frustration stirring. “Do you still wish to learn or not?” He snaps. Sophie stills, jaw tensing. She strides to her fallen weapon and picks it up.

“I didn’t say I didn’t.” She mutters, readying her weapon. He sighs, shaking his head. This would be a long day, he fears.

It’s midday by the time he calls a stop. Sophie is flushed, limbs trembling but she waves off Fenris’ offer to help her stand. Her back is damp and dirty, grass in her hair from the many, many times she’s fallen. Her knees are just as dirty, from all the times she stood and faced him again. She’s stubborn. Fiercely so, and Fenris finds he admires it, even as Sophie wipes herself off with a cloth, wincing as she stretches too far one way.

“You did well.” He says, offering her water from a skin. Sophie glances at him, brows rising before she scoffs, smiling.

“Doesn’t feel like it, but I’ll take it.” She says and drinks. Fenris looks away. “Hey,” Sophie calls, waving. “Thank you. For this. I might bitch about it, but it’s been helpful.” She tosses the skin back and he catches it.

“I’m glad.” Fenris says, “But I do not think a sword will be of any help to you.” A frown forms on her face and he sighs. “You’re more a rogue, so to speak. Light on your feet, bold when you need to be. I should have considered…” He shakes his head. “I have not made use of them in many years, but I feel daggers would be of better use.”

Sophie tilts her head, considering. “Stabby-stabby instead of slashy-slashy. I do have a higher dex stat than strength.” She murmurs and then grins. Fenris shakes his head, but can’t help the small smile. “Think you can teach me?”

“I can try. Later. We should rest first.”

A kind of rhythm falls into place. Mornings are spent training, Sophie taking to the use of long knives with ease, slowly gaining confidence and speed. On occasion, Sebastian would join them, showing Sophie tricks to get her out of trouble. Lunches are simple, with talk before Fenris finds himself alone, often to read or visit the Hendyr household to the children’s delight. Aveline always insists he stays for dinner, venting her frustrations managing a leaderless city while her children crawl over Fenris’ lap. Then late evenings with a book, company, and now, music.

Eyeing the flat book-like object in Sophie’s hands, Fenris runs his thumb over the edge of his wine glass as she unfolds it bathing her face in a pale light that catches on her glasses.

“What did you say that was?” He asks.

“Laptop. It’s a kind of computer. Basically a much bigger version of my phone though not designed for the same level of communication.” Sophie says, fingers tapping at little square things she calls keys.

“Ah.” Fenris says. The phone sits balanced on his knee where he was perusing the pictures of Sophie’s world, the city she lived in, her home. Her cat features often, along with images of food things he couldn’t put a name to. He shares a glance with Sebastian, who watches curiously.

“And it contains music?” Orana asks, seated beside Sophie, peering at the luminescent ‘screen’.

“Sure does. What kind of music do you want to hear?” Sophie gives the other woman a smile. Orana bites her lip, looking shyly at Fenris and Sebastian for recommendations.

Sebastian chuckles. “I leave the choice to our burgeoning musician.” He says.

Fenris nods. “The choice is yours.”

Orana hums. “Something happy?” She looks up at Sophie who nods.

“Happy. Haaaappy.” Sophie clicks her tongue. “Let’s see…” She taps something and then sounds, a few rhythmic notes, first faint, then louder, a light drum, almost bouncy like a very giddy Beth when she receives a treat, and then a voice. _Sun is shining in the sky, there ain’t a cloud in sight, its stopped raining…_ It’s all together cheerful, stirring a sense of joy in Fenris. Orana’s eyes have gone wide, shining as she drinks in the tune, tapping her fingers on Sophie’s knee. Smiling, Sophie sends him a glance, pleased and leans back as if basking in the sound, foot bouncing as it plays _… Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why you had to hide away for so long…_ It's infectious. Fenris finds himself nodding along, the melody pulling at him to move, dance along and partake in its joy. Someone clears his throat, and Fenris catches Sebastian’s amused glance. Ears flushing, Fenris looks away, sipping his wine. Once the song ends, another begins, a few jaunty beats and then a man's voice, high and pleasant _It might seem crazy what I’m about to say…_

“How many songs do you have on this?” Orana asks, voice rising over the music. Sophie cracks open an eye and does something with the laptop’s keys and the music gets quieter.

“A few thousand I think.”

“Thousand?” Orana gawks and Sophie giggles.

“All kinds of music, all kinds of songs. Mostly. My taste in music can be pretty varied…” Sophie says. “Sebastian, your turn to pick.”

And so it goes, slowly, Sophie shares a little more of her world with them, and they share with her. Orana teaches her some cooking in the kitchen, the two laughing and talking as they work. Sebastian oversees her reading, elaborating on tales and stories and snippets of history, fending off Sophie’s questions until the two tumble down a warren of odd topics until the candles burn low. And Fenris… He takes her to Donnic’s, to the Hanged Man, to where Sophie can see the Waking Sea.

Two weeks pass like this. Then a letter arrives in Sebastian’s hand, marked with an ornate seal. Fenris reads it over Sophie’s shoulder as she slowly sounds out the words.

_The Inquisition is investigating. Send the Rift woman to Cumberland. My agent, Umber, will meet her there and escort her to Haven._

Of course it would not last.

Fenris taps his armoured fingers against his vembrace, watching the armour salesman fit Sophie into a padded plate-coat. Only a few days to prepare for a month of overland travel, and all things considered, she looks only a little anxious. The man steps away and Sophie makes a face, rolling her shoulders, testing the give in the arms.

“It’s heavy.” She says, jabbing her elbow at the empty air.

“Better than death.” Fenris answers. “The belt will help.” She hums pulling at the collar before taking the offered belt and cinching it over her hips. A few minutes of movement and she sighs, starts tugging herself free.

“Too heavy. I can’t move which makes me a sitting duck.” She passes back the coat and the salesman dips into a bow.

“Not a problem, messere, if you are more inclined to lighter weapons, I have something that will fit.”

“Sure.” Sophie says and when the small man goes, she sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face, pacing in tough trousers fitting for rough travel and a light undercoat that does nothing to hide the body beneath. “Should’ve stuck with the living history shit.” Sophie mutters. At Fenris’ look, shakes her head. “History nerds running around in period dress. Dad’s thing.”

“I see. Your archery included no armour?”

“No. That was Dad’s gig.” The salesman comes back, holding a deep grey coat, shoulders capped with gleaming metal, fasteners in place for better protection for her elbows and arms. Sophie slips it on, and it falls to mid thigh.

“Now, messere, this one sacrifices some protection for ease of movement,” The salesman explains as Sophie buckles herself up. “It is padded for comfort, but holds a layer of hardened plates.” Belt on, Sophie shifts and moves.

“Better?” Fenris asks.

“Better.”

Once they have gloves to protect her hands, Fenris pays using Sebastian’s coin and ushers Sophie out of the small building.

“Weapons?” she asks, and he nods, beckoning her to follow. She’d need her own for travel, having kept to wooden copies for training. It’s a chill, heavy day, Hightown’s streets smothered with a hazy fog. Fenris keeps his strides slow, easy enough for the shorter woman to keep up, as he presses through the crowd.

Three days. And this odd, engaging, otherworldly woman will be gone. For the best, Fenris tells himself. This Inquisition would have the resources to help her find her way home. Failing that… He lets go an uneasy sigh. Rebel mages and renegade templars tearing each other apart, innocents caught in the crossfire, demons running rampant, all on top of the usual dangers for a person alone. He spares a glance over his shoulder. Sophie’s brow is furrowed, lips pressed into a line. He looks away, turning towards the weapons vendor Isabela preferred.

“Do you believe you’ll be comfortable with daggers?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Sophie answers, falling in beside him. “After all the ass-kicking Sebastian’s given me I should be.” He grunts, stepping around a pile of animal excrement that draws a sound of disgust from Sophie. “Just need to find something that suits.”

“Hopefully we can find something.”

“Yeah.” Sophie sighs, glancing up at him through stray strands of hair. “Sorry. For being picky.”

“We’re searching for equipment to keep you alive.” Fenris answers, slowing before the right stall. “Of all the times to be discerning, this is it.”

“Fair point.” Sophie turns to the blades on display. Long daggers, some with rippling edges, some with thick short blades for puncturing plate. Hildi, the owner, Rivaini born, Kirkwall raised, with deep midnight skin and amber eyes gives Fenris her winning smile, gold tooth and all. Her tilts her head towards Sophie, brows lifted and Fenris hesitantly nods after a moment of thought. Sophie seems not to notice, gaze focused. She lifts a blade, slender and sharp, and turns it in her grip.

“How’s it feel?” Hildi asks, smiling at Sophie with a hand braced on her table.

“Light, well balanced.” Sophie answers. Hildi grins, glances at Fenris.

“What kind of blade is the lass after?” she asks. Fenris shrugs, arms crossed over his chest. Sophie is slowly moving the blade in one hand, smooth circular motions. She sets it down.

“Anything slightly curved?” She asks. Hildi nods.

“Got a few.” She brings the weapons in question over, offering one to Sophie hilt first. It’s a pair of long knives, Rivaini made, gleaming and pale in the weak sunlight. Sophie draws one, tilts the blade to and fro as she examines it. “Lazurite blade, onyx guard, bone handle. Keeps its edge well.” Hildi drew her sword an inch from its scabbard. “I have a sword similar to it. Same maker. Only the best for the Champion’s companions.” She winks at Sophie, leaning over the table. Sophie blinks back, glancing at Fenris. She almost looks panicked.

“Can you use it?” He asks. Sophie gives a jerky nod. Focus returns.

“I’ll need to practice.” She manoeuvres the blade, blunt edge against her arm as if bracing it against an opposing blow. She nods, meets Hildi’s inviting smile and smiles back. “Show me the others.” Sophie asks and Hildi’s smile grows.

The new Chantry’s bells ring as they head away from the market, calling the faithful to evening prayer. The day is a success, by any estimation. Sophie has everything she’ll need to travel and defend herself, down to a basic healer's kit. Another few days to prepare, then north and west with some of Sebastian’s men, to meet the Inquisition’s agent. Fenris’ lip curls. A lot could go wrong. Or, nothing. Walking up to Hawke’s door, he shakes his head. Who is he to worry after her? She’s no stray pup, and far from a child. He shoves the door open with more force than he intends, and wipes his feet on the straw mat.

“O-kaaaay,” Sophie mutters behind him, closing the door. “Something the matter?” He bristles despite himself. The matter? No, nothing is the matter, or should be a matter where he’s concerned.

“It is fine.” Fenris says. Turning and stalking into the mansion proper, setting down the satchel of gear he carries. Her life is not his business.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem like it.” Sophie’s footsteps land heavy behind him. “Fenris, are you alright, did I do-” He whirls around, hands raised to keep her back. Her hand reaching for him falters and falls.

“You have enough to concern yourself with.” He says. Sophie balks, shoulders curling. It’s defensive. He overstepped. Fenris forces out a slow breath. “It’s nothing.” Sophie’s face goes blank, jaw tight.

“Right. I…” She steps back. “Sorry.” Sophie bends, grabs the bag he dropped and pushes past him. It hurts more than he expects. No. Not his place. Sophie stops at the base of the stairs and dumps down the things she carries. “No, wait.” She turns back. “I’m going the day after tomorrow.”

“I am aware.” Fenris says. It feels like a growl.

“Then why?” Sophie abandons the steps, advances towards him. Fenris holds his ground. “Today was- You helped me. Again.” She huffs, a humourless smile on her face. “And I’m thankful, I am.”

“I don’t require your thanks.” He snaps, and Sophie flinches.

“Okay. So…” She shifts, hands on her hips but he can’t bring himself to look at her face. One look of hurt is enough. She does not need this. “That’s it. ‘Bye, good luck, have fun storming the castle!’.”

“What is it you want from me?” He snarls.

“I… I don’t.” Sophie says. No. Of course she wouldn’t. “Fenris, I-”

“This journey is too risky and unnecessary. I would have thought you would have the wisdom to know that.”

Sophie’s brows rose. “Excuse me?” She asks, voice soft. “Then why don’t you tell me what the fuck I am supposed to be doing.” She steps forward, stormy eyes burning. “It’s not like I have a variety of options to pick from after all. Stay here under the care of two men I don’t even fucking know? Go to fucking Haven?” Her voice starts to rise and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Either way I’m in the hands of complete fucking strangers I have no choice but to trust, because I am stuck here in this fucking discount Middle Earth!” She jabs her fingers at his chest, finger striking his armour, and he feels it through the plate. “So tell me what other choice do I have? Or better yet, don’t. I don’t know you.” She spins on her heel, grabs her things and mounts the stairs two at a time, leaving Fenris behind with unsteady hands and an odd hollow in his chest. Guilt.

Oh, Fenris you _fool_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious:  
> Sophie's pen is a TWSBI ECO with Daimine's Oxblood for ink.  
> The first song is Mr. Blue Sky by The Elcetric Light Orchestra, the second is Happy by Pharrell Williams.


	6. Melancholy and Umber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love and cookies to underweaterattribute for proofreading and a big thank you to everyone that's commented so far. You guys give me lfe.

Chapter 6

Fenris retreats to the library, his armour discarded. He stares into the fire, nursing a glass of wine, poured from the same bottle he’s been sharing with Sophie. She’s right. She doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know her.

Why did he say that?

Fenris rubs at his brow, turning over the argument in his mind. /What choice do I have?/ He scoffs. No choice at all. None. And now he’s given her reason to flee from one into the absolute unknown. Another sip of wine and Fenris sighs, scanning the room. Sophie’s books are still by the cushion before the fire, the flickering light illuminating her notes, the elegant looping letters on white paper. The other book, folded back on itself, held something else. Fenris looks away. No. Not his business, nor his place to look at her things. She’s shared enough, that strange phone showing his face with perfect clarity, places he’ll never visit, that she may never see again. And instead of helping her find a way home… Fenris groans, stands and drains his wine.

He should bring her books to her. Apologise. Fenris crouches down by the books, reaches to pull them into a pile and pauses, his eyes catching sight of figures on the page.

In one corner is Sebastian’s profile, regal, sketched in with confident strokes down to his collar. Recognisable if lacking perfection. Orana’s figure stands below, mid turn, something unfinished in her hands, built from delicate lines. And beside them, is Fenris, his face turned away, the lyrium on his chin and neck marked in faint, hesitant lines. By his face is his hands, old scars on his knuckles bisected blank lines. He traces a finger lightly around the sketch, turns the page. It’s the courtyard, light, barely there lines showing the walls, shadows lurking beneath the trees. Below it a flower, Andraste’s gold, a little smudged.

“She’s rather good, isn’t she?” Sebastian’s voice breaks the silence of Fenris’ thoughts. He drops the glass, splashing droplets of wine on Sophie’s books.

“/Vishante kaffas!/” Broken glass lay around his feet. Wonderful. He scowls at the prince, ears flushing. Regret. Shame. He should not have looked. “I don’t know what you mean. She needs to pack her things.”

“Aye, she does.” Sebastian sinks to a knee, helps Fenris collect the pieces of broken glass, placing them in a linen kerchief. On the paper, the red drops of wine spread, staining the page. Another thing to apologise for. “Did you manage to find everything?”

“Well enough.” Fenris says, taking the kerchief from Sebastian’s hands. “She’s upstairs, she…” He sighs, rubs his palm over his face. “She is upset. With me.” He clarifies at Sebastian’s raised brow.

“What happened, my friend?” He asks, compassionate as ever and it takes an effort of will not to reject it.

“I… I told her she’s a fool for leaving. To travel with the Inquisition agent.” Fenris says and Sebastian sighs.

“Harsh words.” He says. Fenris grunts, shifting check beneath his feet. “Do you really believe them?” Fenris glares again, but Sebastian’s expression of concern doesn’t shift. He drops his head.

“I believe that it is a grave risk she is taking, more so than staying here.” Fenris says quietly.

“And if taking that risk could get her home?” Sebastian’s hands close Sophie’s books, stacks them neatly with her odd pen on top.

“It is her decision, not mine.” Fenris stands, carries the glass to be discarded.

“And yet you told her it was unwise.” Sebastian’s voice follows him.

“It…” Fenris closed his mouth, stalking to dump the glass with the waste Orana couldn’t compost. “It is dangerous.” He says to the sounds of booted footsteps.

“Believe me, Fenris,” Sebastian says with a sigh. “She knows. I fear for her as well.”

“Then why send her away on a slim chance?” Fenris shakes out the kerchief, offers it back without looking. “Let them seek their answers and send word.”

“I am not sending her, Fenris.” Sebastian says. “She made the choice to go.” Fenris’ arm goes slack.

“Then she’s as foolish as I said.”

“Is she? Risking her life to get home? Can you honestly say that neither of us have done anything as foolish?” How could he be so calm about this? Fenris grits his teeth, leaning back against the cooking bench. In truth, Sebastian is correct. Squatting for years on end in an empty, derelict mansion on the off chance Danarius appeared? Foolish, as was any time he let his guard down while running, got lazy, complacent. But he knew the world at least. As a slave from Northern Thedas, but he knew it’s dangers. But, Sebastian is right. He chose. He risked.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Sebastian sighs.

“You know I planned to bring this up with you this evening.” He says. Fenris looks up. An odd little smile graced Sebastian’s lips and Fenris frowns. “Haven is a far way to go, even with a stranger. We, at least, are known to Sophie. I cannot leave Kirkwall but,” Brilliant blue eyes flick up to Fenris’ face. “I thought, who better to see her safely than the most formidable and cunning warrior I know?”

“Me? I…” Fenris’ mouth twists and he throws the kerchief at the prince. “She does not want my company.”

“Have you asked?”

Fenris scoffs. “She made that more than clear last we spoke.”

“People can say things they don’t mean when upset and afraid.” Sebastian says, glancing to the door when Orana swung it open, giving them a smile and slipping past them to check the oven. “Just think on it.” Sebastian says and moves to collect plates from the shelf.

Fenris does not think on it. Not consciously at first. Instead he retreats, taking a few books to his small room to read. It doesn’t work, each paragraph only serves to aggravate him further until he casts the book aside in disgust. What is he doing? Sulking out of sight like a misbehaving child. With an irritated growl, he stands, and opens his door, and pauses, glancing at the pile of books Sophie left in the library. He may as well use it as a means to apologise. Scooping up the books and pen, Fenris closes his door behind him and pads lightly down the silent hallway. Dinner was a few hours ago, Orana taking a tray up when Sophie failed to appear.

At her door, Fenris pauses, and pulls in a deep slow breath. All he needs to do is apologise, accept whatever response she gives him. He raps his knuckles against the wood and waits. No response comes. Sighing, Fenris knocks again, braces his hand against the cool wood.

“Sophie.” He licks his lips. “I would like to apologise. I-” His weight shifts forward and the door clicks open. Fenris freezes as it swings open with a soft creak. A few lit candles flicker, casting shifting shadows on the wall. “Sophie?” Fenris leans through the door frame. The bed is made, her bag laid out with her supplies arranged neatly across the coverlet. No Sophie. He sighs, leaning his shoulder against the frame. He leaves Sophie’s books on the bed, fingertips lingering on the page stained with wine. In the poor light he can still see the sketch, ghostly trees, the flower…

Music, faint but audible. Fenris follows the sound to the open window, parts the gauzy curtain.

The first time he saw her in the cave, she was afraid and defiant. Brave. She does not look so brave now. Curled between the roots of the courtyard tree, knees drawn to her chest is Sophie, pale face barely visible in the dark.

As he watches, she curls tighter, rubbing the sleeve of her tunic over her face.

Fenris turns away, shame bubbling in his gut. Retracing his steps to the stairs, he hurries down, wobbling a little on the sudden turn into the kitchen. He slips through the still warm room, through the mudroom, only stopping when his feet feel moss.

Sophie’s face lifts towards him, a moon in the shadow and just as impassive. “Lemme guess, ‘sitting outside in the cold is foolish’.” Sophie says in a terrible attempt to mimic his speech. It’d have been amusing, were it not for the flat look she bears.

“No,” Fenris says, hesitating before stepping across the mossy grass. “No, you are upset.”

Sophie huffs, breath fogging as she rises. “I wonder why.” She collects her bow and quiver, tucked away into her off grey bag. “All things considered.” She brushes past him on light feet.

“I did not-” Fenris cuts himself off, running his fingers through his hair. “I spoke poorly.” He turns pacing after her quick steps. She stops, shoulders tightening.

“Ya _think_?” Sophie turns to give him a look so thoroughly unimpressed, Fenris’ ears start to burn. He steels himself, meets her gaze.

“I spoke rashly. I was… I am concerned. I don’t question your courage, nor your choice.” Sophie arches a brow. “I would like to give my apologies, if you will have them.”

Her expression softens, first the brows, then the lips, and then Sophie lifts her face to the sky with a soft groan.

“You know, I spent pretty much the entire evening trying to figure out what the hell I did to piss you off. Fenris, look,” Sophie steps back onto the moss, looking down at her feet. “I am not all that great with social things. Interactions with people, I-” She pivots, paces back. “I can’t read subtle facial expressions, I don’t see or understand the unspoken shit, you need to understand that.” Sophie pauses and he nods. “So, when you pushed the door open, I thought I did something. And then- You’re right.” She says finally.

“I… sorry?”

“Haven.” Sophie says stepping forward. “It’s a risk, I know it’s a risk but I can’t just sit on my ass and wait in the tower.” She waves a hand at the high walls surrounding them. “I’m helpless enough as it is.”

“I would hardly call you helpless.” Fenris says. She scoffs.

“Okay, I can shoot a bow and I now know how to hold a knife, but I don’t have experience.” Sophie looks down at the weapon in her hands. “I’ve never killed. I haven’t even seen death until…” Her breath catches in her chest and her grip tightens. “I don’t want to kill. It’s obvious I won’t get a choice sooner or later.” She trembles. Fenris edges closer as Sophie sucks in a slow shuddering breath, holds it and exhales slowly. When she looks up at her, her eyes shine with wetness. “It’s fine. I accept your apology Fenris.”

A tightness in his stomach eases, but the shame remains for losing his temper, a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. “I… am glad to hear it.” He says gently. The corners of her mouth pull up, leaving the rest of her face unchanged. She steps away, holding her bow bag close. “Sophie…” Fenris steps forward and Sophie stiffens. “In the short time I’ve known you, you have shown a great deal of resilience and strength. The journey may be hard, but I do not doubt your ability to make it.”

Sophie studies him, before nodding with a long sigh. “I’m gonna go to bed.” She retreats, vanishing into the estate.

The next morning she beats him to the courtyard, loosing arrows with a vengeance. _Who better to see her safely…?_ Would a small troop of soldiers be enough? Would Umber? Fenris can’t shake the question from his mind.

◆

Her last day, Sophie drinks.

Maeve is a persuasive force for frivolity, dragging Sophie from the Hawke estate to a tavern. Not the infamous Hanged Man, but interesting enough. It feels like a farewell, a last hurrah before falling off the edge of a cliff, and despite the chatter, the songs from the minstrel in the corner, and the not so bad ale, all Sophie can think about is tomorrow. West to Cumberland, then south, across the Waking Sea and more south. A lot more judging by the maps Sebastian showed her, through country dotted with bandits, beasties, warring templars, mages and demons if the chatter around her is accurate. /Great./

Still, doing nothing… Hiding in a stranger’s estate, behind kindness she can’t possibly repay, without knowing anything for certain, without finding her feet. She /can’t/ live like that.

Evening falls and Sophie lingers in Hawke’s library, cramming herself into a windowsill, half hiding behind the red curtain. Fitting, she thinks, like a ghost lurking just out of sight, down to the melody pouring from her little speaker, balanced on her knees. Piano and harp dance in harmony, Florence Welch’s voice echoing oddly against the rippling glass and stone. … _I can see it coming from the edge of the room, creeping in the streetlight…_

In the morning, she’ll leave, heading from one unknown to another. Florence mournfully breaks into the chorus … _I think I’m breaking down again…_

“Such melancholy.” Sebastian says, closing the library door behind him. He holds two steaming mugs on a small tray. “I thought I heard yourself, Miss Adler.”

“No, just a recording.” Sophie answers. Since introducing the laptop, and her music, to the others, there’s been little true silence in the estate, Orana often asking for it to play If Sophie hadn’t started it already. It was worth it, watching her lose herself in the sound, raising her voice to sing along with the chorus as she shaped bread or watched Sophie mutilate vegetables while peeling them. More so see a kind of peace settle over Sebastian and Fenris. Sophie doesn’t have the heart to tell them their favoured melodies were from Final Fantasy, or worse, a strong quartet cover of Still Alive from Portal. How she’ll ever explain that origin escapes her. Fortunate then, they seem content to listen.

“How fortunate you are, to carry such beauty with you.” Sebastian says with a smile, passing up a mug of tea.

“You said that before.”

“It remains the truth.” He says with a smile that softens every aspect of his masculine face, and Sophie understands a little more while women swoon over princes. No one has the right to be simply that sincere and gorgeous. “Perhaps one day you could bring your songs to Starkhaven.”

“And play them for your court?” She teases and he flashes her a devilish grin.

“Perhaps.” He laughs, everything going gentle again. “Perhaps by then we’d have a better understanding, and you would not feel so out of place. Not so strange to share it then.”

“No lovely lady to share it with?” Sophie gives her best cheeky grin, and gets a soft laugh.

“Not as yet.” Sebastian drags a chair closer to the window, sitting, turning his face towards the fire. “There’s been a great deal more on my mind than finding a partner.”

“Understandable.” Sophie says, blowing the steam off her tea. “It’d be hard I imagine, figuring out who to let in.”

The smile Sebastian gives her is sad and knowing. “Alas, you are correct.” He sighs, sipping his tea. “I never asked if you had anyone before coming here, someone to miss especially.” Ah. Sophie shifts, resisting the urge to withdraw behind the curtain.

“No.” She looks out the window, to the dark streets and distant lights of other houses. “Not for a while. Last time was…” Memories flicker. Her chest aches like there’s a brick on her sternum, pressing down until she can’t breathe. Breath on her neck. Rocking motions like a little boat on rough water. Her fingers clench around the warm mug. _Nope._ No, no, no no no. Not going there. Shoving the memories down and away. “Bad. It was bad. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to do that when you’re working on one thing or another all the time.” Easier to deal with too. People are hard. She sips tea from the mug in her hands, a comforting black laced with honey and a dash of milk.

“I am sorry to hear that, my friend.” Sebastian’s voice is so very gentle. And real. He lives and breathes compassion but not without some steel. Not if the stories he and Fenris have told her are anything to go by.

“Nah. I’m alright.” She gives him a smile. “As we say in my homeland, ‘shit happens’.” Sebastian snorts, laughter bursting from his chest.

“So it seems.” Still laughing, he leans back in his chair, regarding her with crinkled eyes. “I will sorely miss your presence, Sophie.”

“Pfft, that’s only because I haven’t had a chance to let my freak flag fly, Sebastian.”

Another laugh. “Ah, then you’ve been on your best behaviour?” He asks and Sophie shrugs, smiling. Hard not to when you feel like you’re on thin ice every second, but no need to tell him that. Not to mention her particular nerdy brand of weirdness could be… a lot.

“Rule One.” Sophie says lifting a finger. “Do not freak out your rescuers.”

“A good rule.” Sebastian lifts his mug in toast, and Sophie lifts hers in kind.

“If it helps,” She says. “I think I’ll miss you too. And Orana. You both have been so kind.” Orana especially seems determined to have Sophie be as prepared as possible for the journey, supplying Sophie with small things ‘just in case’, enlisting her help in the kitchens to prepare her. The advice was nearly endless, always sincere, always worried.

Sebastian quirks a brow. “But not Fenris?” Ah. Shit.

“No, no, I’ll miss him too.” Sophie says, fiddling with her mug. Despite the harsh words, the uneasy feeling in her stomach whenever she sees him, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t fond of the elf. Hard not to be when he saved her ass, and brought her to Sebastian, and well... worried about her safety. And under that gruff demeanour there's something not quite soft, but warm, given away by his dry humour, fondness for wordplay and the intense focus that characterises his curiosity. Knowing she may not see him again after tomorrow, that their last conversation may be a tense apology in the courtyard, a stilted farewell; it sticks in her throat. But he left the estate earlier that day, and hasn't yet returned. She was starting to lose hope she could make up for her awkward ass. “You’ll tell him that for me?” She asks. Below her, lit gold by the fire, Sebastian gives a nod that may as well be a bow.

“I will.”

“This is a bad time to mention I am not a morning person.” Sophie growls. It’s barely dawn, only the very top of Kirkwall’s tallest buildings catching the sunlight. It’s a pretty sight. Too bad it’s fucking freezing. Sophie shivers in her armour, the layers of tunic, undercoat, jack of plate and leather doing fuck all to keep the chill out. And she’s going south. To Haven. Which is in the fucking mountains. Beside a pair of bored looking horses, tall and brown with white socks and already packed with gear, Maeve laughs.

“I wouldn’t worry much. The cold outside the walls will wake you up..” She says with a broad grin. Sophie flips her off, and the woman laughs harder. “Sophie, I’ll be with you every step. I won’t let you fall off or fall asleep. Neither will Jonar.” She strokes the nose of the nearest horse, the big beast giving a gentle snort.

“I’ll be nice to Jonar if he’ll be nice to me.” Sophie says. Jonar, wisely, says nothing. Around them, a group of three other soldiers prepare their mounts, pass jokes in the morning light and wait for the go go ahead from their Prince. Sebastian cuts a stately figure in a coat of ocean blue embroidered with coppery thread, standing almost a head taller than the Captain he speaks to and looking as as close as one could get to a real life Disney Prince. Whoever he settles on will be a damned lucky… Woman? Person? So far there’s no sign of preference and theres been a couple same sex couples floating around Hightown which was… interesting.

Sebastian pats the man on the shoulder and breaks off, approaching Sophie with a smile.

“Are you ready?” He asks, annoyingly cheerful. Sophie reminds herself not to grump. He is your friend. Do not bite his face off.

“As I’ll ever be.” She says with a shrug. “Thinking I should’ve bought one of those cloaks when I had a chance.” She looks enviously at the weatherproofed capes the soldiers around her wear, all a dusty shade of green. At least it’d be an extra layer.

Sebastian chuckles. “Ah but if you had, you’d have no need of my gift.” Sophie arches a brow at him.

“Dude, you’ve already paid for all my equipment,” Like her armour and the knives on her hip and everything else. “And you’re helping me. That’s gift enough.”

“Those were necessities to see you through your journey.” Sebastian says gesturing to one of the attendants carrying a folded bundle of cloth. “Here,” He plucks the bundle free and unfurls it. A cloak, deep green in colour, it’s hood lined with dark grey fur. Fastenings beneath the throat were stitched with silvery thread, as Sebastian draped it around her shoulders, Sophie discovered openings for her arms. “This, however, is a gift, from one friend to another.” He steps back. Sophie runs her gloved hands over the rich wool. The silvery thread ran down the seams in a simple winding pattern. How much time it would have taken to make, to dye the wool, to weave it, cut and stitch and embroider. _Fuck._ Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Sophie’s eyes stung. She looks up to Sebastian’s face, and blinks her eyes clear. “It’s… It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say beyond thank you.”

“You don’t need to say anything more.” Sebastian took something else from the attendant, taking her hand to press it into her palm. A small purse that clinked as she grips it. “All I ask is that you write to me once you’re in Haven.” He says, putting his other hand over hers, strong. Reassuring.. “Tell me of your journey, let me know you are safe.” Swallowing down a heavy lump In her throat, Sophie nods.

“I will. We can be pen pals!” She jokes and thank fuck, he laughs.

“It would be my pleasure.” Sebastian gently squeezes her fingers. “May the Maker bless and guard you, Sophie Adler.” He says, and it feels like a prayer.

“And you, Sebastian Vael.” Sophie says, squeezing his fingers in return. A flash of white catches her eye. Was that…? Fenris, his lean form hidden in a dull grey cloak, his sword hanging from a strap steps around a horse, brows pulled into a surly frown.

“Are we ready to go?” He asks. Sophie blinks. We? Wait, what? He turns his face to her, looking from under strands of white hair. “If you will let me join you. ”

“Uh,” Sophie says. Heat that has nothing to do with the fur tickling her neck flushes up to her ears. She glances at Sebastian. He doesn’t look surprised, instead regarding Fenris with an almost feline look of satisfaction. “To Cumberland?”

Fenris nods. “If you wish. It would be…” His gaze trails to the side, head lower than usual, the tips of his ears ruddy. “Safer for all with another. And I would not feel comfortable without seeing you to the Inquisition’s agent myself.”

Sophie glances between the two of them. She knows enough to pick up that she's missing something, possibly a big something. But the worry of figuring out the unspoken nuances of conversation fell flat under the swell of relief that eases a tightness in her stomach she didn’t even notice.

“I…” She starts. Fenris’ gaze flicks to hers. “I would appreciate that, Fenris. Really.” Sophie says, and his lips pull into the ghost of a smile.

“Then if you are going, you’ll need to take a horse.” Sebastian says, turning away to speak with the soldier at his shoulder. Pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders, Sophie lets out a shaky breath, nervous jitters making the noise around her a little too loud. Fenris looks at her, taking in the cloak. His metal capped fingers lightly trail over the wool.

“The cloak suits you.” He says, voice low. She steps closer to hear him.

“Thank you. I… Didn’t think you’d come.” Sophie says. Fenris drops his gaze again, gives a sigh as he shifts his weight.

“I had to get supplies. I was concerned I would arrive too late.” He says. A voice yells a command, Winnifred mounting a horse. Crap.

“Looks like you’re just in time.” Sophie says. Maeve helps her climb into the saddle, whispers quick instructions as she presses the reins into Sophie’s hands.

“Jonar will follow the rest of us.” Maeve grins and pats Sophie’s arm. Beside her, Fenris mounts his own horse with the same effortless ease he does everything else. Sophie shifts in her saddle, finding her balance as the horse shifts beneath her. Beyond the group, Sebastian raises a hand in silent farewell, and Winnifred shouts another command. The horse beneath Sophie lurches forward, moving with the group. They ride, leaving Kirkwall behind.

To her credit, Sophie does not fall from her horse. In fact she does rather well, half working on memories from a summer three years ago, the rest just letting Jonar keep up with the rest. But despite the years of horse stance, training, practising, her entire lower half aches by the end of the first day. She manages to get the tent up on her own, bedroll unfurled for sleep before Sophie’s forced to plonk herself down on the grass and just sit, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Told you, Jonar will take care of you.” Maeve says, crouching beside Sophie, a grin on her face. She passes over a waterskin and Sophie takes a long drink, gloriously cold water soothing her dry throat.

“Sure, except my back, and my ass and…” Sophie arches and twists, stretching the tight muscles along her spine. “Everything.”

“Unfortunately that happens,” Maeve sits back on the grass, wincing as she settles her legs. Around them the camp is a quiet hum of movement, a growing fire, horses being brushed down and fed. On a low rise, Winnifred and Fenris speak over a map in the Captain’s hands. “You’ll get used to it.” Maeve says. “No choice but to, with the journey you’re on.”

“Mmm.” Sophie isn’t looking forward to how much the journey is going to suck. Even on earth, travel on the ground and camping in the wild can be uncomfortable, unless you glamped. When you choose it, it’s fun. A break from normal. Here, it is normal. It’ll probably be her normal before she gets back home. If she can get home. There’s still the question of what happened and whether it’s safe to even be… She doesn’t think about it while helping Callum with dinner, herby flatbread she turns with a two pronged fork while he cooks salted pork in a pot with legumes and a dash of wine. It’s better than Sophie expects, and aside from the persistent ache in her legs and the very real soldiers around her, it feels like camping.

Night falls, grows dark. Sophie watches the clouds pass over the moon and stars. There’s not a single constellation she recognises, but dear gods are they bright. Footsteps rustling grass breaks her from her thoughts, Sophie turning her head to meet Fenris’ gaze. In the dark, the curving lines on his skin glow, catching his hair, his eyes, the sharp edges of his armour. He is, without question, quite beautiful.

“May I sit?” He asks softly. Sophie nods, patting the grass beside her. He sinks down and loops his arms around his knees. “How are your legs?”

Sophie snorts. “In a word? Ow.” Fenris laughs quietly, glancing her way. A fuzzy warm feeling thumps in her chest. Oh. She knows what that is. Shit, shit shit. Swallowing hard, she looks away to the fire and shrugs. Act normal. “I guess it’ll get worse before it gets better but…” The fuck even is normal?

“You will adapt.” Fenris says. “I… have not been to Ferelden myself, but I have met this Nightingale.”

“You trust her word?” Sophie asks.

“I believe in Sebastian’s faith in her, that she means to help you find answers in exchange for what knowledge you can provide.”

Sophie snots. “That’s a long winded way to say you’re not sure.”

“I am certain of little regarding your situation.” Fenris says. The side of Sophie’s face itches and she peeks back. Their eyes meet and Fenris looks away.

“That’s why you came.” Sophie says. He nods.

“That, and,” Fenris says, and then sighs, rubbing at his brow. “It did not feel right to leave things as they are. Nor to send you away without seeing you to the Nightingale’s agent.” Sophie isn’t sure if the jittery feeling around her shoulders is gladness or anxiety.

“You don’t owe me that.” She says and Fenris huffs.

“It isn’t about owing. I know what it is to be alone in the world, how hard that can be. I had the,” He scoffs, eyes rolling upwards, “Regrettable benefit of having a hard life. You, Sophie, are very…” She arches a brow and Fenris’ voice trails away, deep green eyes flicking over her face. “You are gentle. This world is not.” There’s such sincerity in his voice, the pull of his lips, the line between his brows. He means it. Not as an insult.

“Yeah, I-” She licks her lips and despite herself she smiles. “I got that impression when I was kidnapped by slavers. Which sucked. Thank you again, by the way, for doing the whole…” She mimes stabbing a sword with her hand.

“It is nothing. It is right.” Fenris says with a shake of his head. The fire pops, Callum winding to the end of some kind of story. Tapping her fingers on the grass, Sophie glances at Fenris, traces the lines along his throat with her eyes.

“You’re not a soldier.” She says, voice soft. His brow twitches, and he looks at her. “You were working with them but you’re not part of Starkhaven’s forces.”

“You said that before,” Fenris says.

“Which makes me think you have a particular issue with slavers. A personal one.” She twists to better face him.

“I do.” He says. Sophie bites her lip. His accent is a lot like Orana’s. Come to think of it, so was Tanner’s. And… Fenris holds her gaze, just as patient as he was while watching her stand again and again while sparring. Waiting for her to figure out the right answer. It clicks, her chest tightens.

“You were a slave?” Sophie asks. Fenris’ lips twist into a hard smile.

“I was. Ten years ago I started my escape from my former master, a Tevinter Magister by the name of Danarius.” His face pulls into a scowl. So much venom in a single name. Sophie’s stomach clenches, all kinds of abuse flickering through her mind. “A mage. He put these markings onto my skin, an act that stole all my memories. I escaped him on Seheron to the north. Over years, I fled further south, and he chased me, sending bounty hunters to dog my every move.” He paints the journey in the air with his fingers, carving a winding path on an unseen map.

“Oh my gods,” She breathes, and the hardened look on Fenris’ face softens just a little. He nods.

“Eventually I made my way to Kirkwall, where I met Hawke. She helped me. Six years, I waited in that empty mansion, waiting for Danarius.”

“You kill him?” Sophie asks. Fenris nods.

“His apprentice first, and then him when he finally showed his face.” His fingers curl, claw-like armour glinting in the firelight. “He used my own family to find me, promising my sister the chance to be a magister like him, to take slaves, abuse lives with magic for the price of her own brother.” Fenris spits. He stares into the fire, shoulders hunched. Through her horror, a great deal of things make terrible sense. The bubble of space he maintains with everyone around him, learning to read, the near constant state of awareness and caution he maintains outside of the Hawke estate. Sophie’s stomach rolls, her dinner threatening a second act.

“Oh my gods.” When he looks at her, Sophie licks her lips. “I… Holy shit.”

“Mm.” Fenris pulls in a slow breath, exhales and slowly straightens his back.

“Did it hurt?” Sophie asks. He lifts his brows in question. “That fucker. Danyshithead. It hurt?” A slow, fierce smile stretches Fenris’ lips and at once he looks all too much like a great wolf.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Sophie says. “I… holy hell.” She scrubs her hands over her face. “I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Fenris says, the anger fading from his voice. He simply sounds worn. “I live. I am free. I can make sure others remain so.”

“And save nerdy women from another world.” Sophie straightens, crossing her legs. He chuckles, giving her a smile, and gods, she really likes that smile. And the way it makes her feel.

“When the opportunity arises.” Fenris says. “I am glad I was able to do so. That is not a life I would wish on anyone, much less a woman like you.” His gaze settles on her face, and Sophie panics in her head.

“Cos I’m squishy.” She says, trying to deflect. Fenris snorts, shaking his head, but he looks no less amused.

“Not the word I would use.” Closer to the fire, soldiers rise, breaking away for rest. It breaks the spell between Sophie and Fenris, and she shivers, breathing like she’d been running up a hill.

“I-” She starts, but Fenris cuts her off.

“Should sleep.” He says and tilts his chin towards her tent. “Rest well.”

“Yeah,” Sophie slowly climbs to her feet, muscles painfully twitching. “You too.” In her tent she shares with Maeve, Sophie curls up in her bedroll and listens to her heart racing in her chest. She has to get it together. Has to. Another few days and she may not ever see him again. It is completely the wrong time to find him attractive, no matter how brilliantly clever, snarky, and surprisingly kind he is. Closing her eyes, Sophie pulls her cloak over her head. He has his own life. She has hers. And soon, they would say goodbye.

Two and a half days of travel over grassland and through forest, as as the sun starts to descend from its peak, Cumberland appears through the trees. Sunlight catches off a broad golden dome at the top of the city, the citadel crafted from warm coloured stone. On the back of Jonar the horse, -whom Sophie is now moderately fond of- she catches the sharp scent of sea-salt as she sighs.

Gods, she hurt. She aches in places she never knew could ache, and despite the fucking amazing views around her, her mood sinks. At the edge of the forest, Umber, the Inquisition agent, will be waiting, and then the rest of the group will head back to Starkhaven, and she will be going south. To Haven.

Rubbing the leather reins between her gloved fingers, she scans the trees around her. The group makes pretty amazing time despite cutting across country, avoiding roads on the Nightingale’s advice. Now they follow Winnifred along a small dirt path, the massive trees around them casting cool shadow over the riders and their mounts. She’s not ready for it. Saying goodbye to the people around her, Maeve with her laughter, Callum with his stories, and Fenris… Her gaze flicks to the elf riding ahead of her, straight-backed, pale hair catching in the dappled sunlight. Every time they speak she learns something, about Thedas, about him. All that depth hiding behind intelligent green eyes, his wry humour… Sophie looks up, stretching her neck with a groan. Thaaat is enough of that. She’s going to miss him, the end, no big deal. And maybe she’ll see him again. Or hear from him. Sebastian asked her to write, so maybe… Or maybe not.

Gradually the trees start to clear as the path curves downwards towards Cumberland, more sunlight bringing more warmth. The sea scent grows stronger as the path opens up winding through slate grey standing stones. It leads them out onto a broad grassy hill that overlooks the way to the city. More of the stones, carvings on the rock long worn away by rain and wind, form a ring and in the center, stands a woman, her face obscured by a deep red hood. She raises her hand, pulls the hood away to show tanned skin, bright blue eyes and a faint smile. Her clothes, dusted with dirt, were cut in shades of grey and red, light armour, a pair of short blades at each hip. Those eyes scan the group, eventually settling on Sophie.

Winnifred signals and the riders stop, Sophie letting Jonar fall still beside Fenris’ mount. Mouth dry, she licks her lips, glancing at him. He looks back, holding her gaze for a long moment and sighs.

“You have a name traveller?” Winnifred asks. The woman nods, pulling a scroll of parchment from a pocket and offering it up to the Captain.

“Umber. You are the party from Starkhaven, I presume.” She says, all refined vowels and clear consonants. Fenris’ face snaps towards the woman.

“We are.” Winnifred says, dismounting and taking the scroll. As she reads, Sophie taps her fingers on her saddle, a twitchy energy making her fiddle. Winnifred looks back at the group and nods. “It’s her.” Faces turn back to Sophie, and her hands clench. She should dismount. Grab her things. Say goodbye. Beside her, Fenris climbs off his horse.

“I guess this is it.” Sophie says softly. Fenris pauses, lifts his face up to hers and nods. He takes her reins, watches as Sophie clambers off the saddle. Maeve has her bag, sad smile in place.

“You’re going to be fine, Sophie.” She says, pulling Sophie into a hug. Sophie, hands numb, hugs her back. She accepts a pat on the shoulder from Callum, helping pull on her backpack. She turns, glances at the waiting woman and steps to where Fenris waits.

“Thank you.” Sophie says. His brows rise. “For everything.”

Fenris shakes his head. “I did what is right.I…” He looks away. “I hope your journey is safe.” He offers a hand and Sophie takes it. His strong fingers close around hers, gently squeezing.

“Me too. I…I figure I should write to you. If you like.” Sophie says. Fenris’ face lights up, the first smile she’s seen in days crossing his features.

“I would enjoy that.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Umber calls, striding towards them. She’s slender, somehow small under the layers she wears. “But we should go, a ship is waiting,” She puts a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “Come, traveller. Let’s go.” Yes. Go. Sophie drops Fenris’ hand. Going is good. She turns, letting the hand on her shoulder lead her.

“What did you say your name was?” Fenris asks. Umber stops, and Sophie frowns, looking at her. They have to go.

“Umber. As the Nightingale said.” She says.

“Odd for her to work with someone from Minrathous.” He says and Sophie’s frown deepens. Why is he asking questions? They have to go. Umber’s smile turns brittle, her gaze flicking around the group.

“She works with people from everywhere, elf. Now wish your friend well. The tide will soon change.” She says. Sophie looks back to Fenris. He’s… frowning. Not sad. Almost angry, the lines on his skin starting to glow. Behind him, Maeve and Callum stand watching, faces slack, eyes vague. Sophie blinks. This doesn’t make sense. Umber’s hand moves to Sophie’s arm, grips her tight. She doesn’t have to do that. Sophie will go with her. The tide will change.

Fenris’ expression darkens. “Unhand her.” Umber smiles, just as dark.

“I do not take orders from a slave.” She snarls and lifts her hand, red flight bursting from her palm. Sophie’s nerves light up like a Christmas tree, every neuron firing. Her mind explodes into a riot of noise, colour, sensation, memories, gathering. Churning, building into a blistering roar that overwhelms everything else. She falls, knees hitting the earth, and screams.

◆

He sees it, as soon as Sophie’s eyes change, anxiety and fear leaching from her face into placid calm. Blood magic. It pulls at him, willing him to accept, to let Sophie go. No. He won’t let them. Hot, furious rage surges through his veins, lyrium brands flaring in life in answer to the witches magic forcing Sophie to her knees.

The attack comes from all sides, fire and lightning carving through the air. The witch throws up a barrier. No matter. Fenris throws himself forward, armoured hands clawing at the magic in his way. A warrior, Imperial armour glinting on the sun, swings his shield, forcing Fenris back. Snarling, he pulls his sword free, and flashes to the man’s back, brings his blade down rending metal and flesh in a burst of gore. Blood hits his face, hot on his skin and he spins, picks his next opponent, and rides the burn of lyrium across the field.

Around them, men and women shout, die, howl in pain and above it all, Sophie screams.

“What the fuck happened to the agent?” Winnifred shouts, deflecting a blast of fire with her shield.

“Magisters from the Imperium!” He shouts back, sidestepping a staff swing. In the chaos, he counts three mages, five fighters left. The horses have bolted. Running is no choice. The mage at his front throws his hands at the ground, forcing Fenris to leap out of range. They were good, these magisters, well planned, well prepared. Vishante kaffas. Why do they want Sophie?

Twisting, blocking a blade with his own, Fenris shoves his fist through a rogue’s throat, crushing her windpipe. He shoves her body back into an oncoming arc of fire, and darts under the swing of a staff. Snarling, he blocks the next strike, twists his grip and shoves his sword through the mage's heart. The body drops. Two left. A flash of fire, Callum screams, the stink of burning flesh filling the air. He’s cut down by a warrior’s casual stroke, only to be cut down in turn by Maeve, red faced and shouting.

Fenris swallows down his grief, lets it fuel his rage as he flickers forward, sword cleaving through two more fighters. More blood hits his skin, sticky and far too warm as he strides over another body. The second mage limps, cutting into her hand. Fenris strikes, her blood hits the dirt, useless.

A hoarse cry behind him makes him turn. Winnifred, shield split, sword high charges the witch standing over Sophie, blood running down her front. The pretender flicks her hand with contemptuous ease, knocking Winnifred to her knees.

“No!” Fenris roars, brands burning. He races forward, too slow despite the lyrium carrying him across the battlefield. Umber raises her short blades, kicking the sword from Winnifred’s hand. She leans down crossing her knives at Winnifred’s throat.

“Get Sophie to Haven!” Winnifred shouts, and twists, driving her shield into Umber’s knees. The witch stumbles, hand glowing with feral red light, face twisting into a picture of rage. She casts as Winnifred plunges her knife into the woman’s belly and both women erupt into flame. The heat forces Fenris to skid to a stop, covering his eyes against the white hot fire. He spots Sophie out of range of the flame and circles around the unnatural fire to her side.

“Captain!” Maeve stops at the edge of the fire, blades loose in her grip. “Is she? Did they?” Panicked brown eyes beg Fenris for an answer he cannot give and he shakes his head. “Oh, oh Andraste preserve us.” She murmurs. Silently, Fenris agrees. Murmuring a soft prayer beneath his breath, he turns to the woman waking from the spell. Sophie sobs, falling forward onto her hands and vomits her breakfast onto the bloodied soil.

“Wh- What was that?” She asks, afraid, voice trembling. Fenris, heart aching, lays his hand on hers and she clings to his fingers. “What the fuck did she do?”

“Blood magic.” He says gently, looking over to the fading fire. Out of the group that rode out from Kirkwall, three remain, Sophie, Maeve and himself. But why? His fingers clench around the hilt of his sword.

“You know who they are?” Maeve asks. He nods.

“Tevinters. Apprentices,” he nods to the two dead amongst Winnifred’s dead people. “Magister.” He says, looking at the pretender. Her corpse is warped, twisted by her own fire. Any clue she carried was likely destroyed along with her. He sighs, bowing his head. If he had not come…

Sophie’s sniffle pulls his attention back to her. “Why? Why did they do this?” She’s staring at the bodies, the blackened form that once was Winnifred.

“They wanted you.” Maeve says, looking as horrified as Sophie. “Because of where she comes from?”

“Maybe.” Fenris, gives Sophie’s fingers a squeeze and her gaze slides slowly to him. “We can’t stay here.” He tells her, as gently as he can manage. Sophie’s chin quivers and she sucks in a breath, swallows, visibly forcing her fear and panic down.

“Options?” She asks, wiping the back of her hand against her flushed face.

“Kirkwall, or we continue on.” Fenris, twists, looking to Maeve. “Can you find the horses?” The question pulls her out of her reverie.

The soldier licks her lips and nods. “I can try. They shouldn’t be far.” That dealt with, Fenris turns his attention back to Sophie. Both her hands now hold his, her face turned away from the bodies littering the ground. Shifting to block it from her gaze, he set his sword down, and after a moment's hesitation, lays his fingers lightly on her shoulder. Sophie starts, blue grey eyes meeting his and she looks so lost, so terrified and alone, a mad part of him wants to pull her into his arms. He shouldn’t. Fenris drops his hand. He will not.

“Whatever choice you make,” Fenris says, nonetheless, “I will go with you. But I can’t choose for you.” Sophie stiffly nods and gingerly releases his hand.

“You can’t, no.” She sniffs again looking past the standing stones towards the city. “Going back would be the safer option. A place of strength but days of travel plus a big ass city…” Sophie’s gaze flicks to the blacked pair of bodies.

Fenris’ frowns, following her logic. “It’d be expected, and another opportunity for whoever sent this cursed magister.” Sophie blanches, shuddering.

“Cumberland.” She says. “Then Haven. Less expected, better chance to hide in a big city, and if we make it we can get answers. Figure out who the fuck is responsible for this.” She snarls with such venom Fenris is taken aback. Underneath the terror in her eyes, lurks fury. He understands completely.

“Then we go to Haven.” He stands,offering a hand to help Sophie to her feet. She accepts, wobbles for a moment before stumbling away from the battleground to lean against one of the great stones. Fenris turns away to deal with the bodies. The Starkhaven soldiers he lays in a group, drapes them with cloaks in lieu of anything more permanent. It’s no fitting burial, far from what they deserve, but chances are they’re being tracked already by another group. The Tevinters he piles together after a cursory search for any scrap of information they could be hiding. Nothing, just a seal from one of the houses of Minrathous. Clavus. Then the leader of the attack was the second daughter, Lurelia. What was she doing here? Why would they want a woman from another world? Information? His stomach sinks, as he turns over the questions in his mind. Any possibility that comes to mind is far from pleasant. He can’t leave Sophie’s side, not if she’s being hunted by Magisters.

By the time Maeve returns, it’s with a single horse and a tear stained face.

“The others are gone,” she calls, leading the gelding by the reins.

“So we walk.” Sophie says. She’s a little distant, like she’s put half of herself far away, and the effect is unsettling. He hopes it will not last.

“We do.” Fenris says. To Maeve, he gestures to the horse. “You, get to the nearest town. Follow the main road. Get back to Kirkwall and tell Sebastian. Tell him what happened here, that the attack was led by Lurelia Clavus, a magister’s daughter.” He thrust the seal into Maeve’s hands, the soldier fumbling with the object. “Tell him Sophie and I will continue on to Haven.”

“On your own?” Maeve glances at Sophie standing by the circle of stones.

“It is her decision.” Fenris says. Maeve nods, pivots and climbs the horse.

“Good luck.” She says. “Both of you.” Tugging at the reins, she turns the horse and urges it into a trot towards the road. Once she’s out of sight, Fenris puts his sword on his back and joins Sophie by the stones.

“Are you alright?” He asks. Sophie gives a flat laugh.

“No.” She says, and rubs her hand over her face, smearing dirt on her cheek. “We doing this?”

Fenris nods and they start to walk.


	7. Cumberland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love and snugs for my proofreader Underwaterattribute and the gang at The Hanged Man

** Chapter 7 **

The walls of Cumberland rise above them, and they slip into a stream of people walking to the city gates. Wrapped in a pilfered cloak, hood high, Fenris shadows Sophie’s rhythmic strides. Before reaching the road, the pair picked their cover. A noble and her elven bodyguard. Easy enough to do for him, but Sophie’s veneer of calm is brittle, growing frail over time. Even now she has to force her shoulders back, lift her head like a highborn woman. At least, despite the dirt and wear from travel, she looks the part in the cloak Sebastian gifted her, a touch of status shining among the plainer travellers alongside them. At the gate, they pass under the gaze of the guards, the closest looking over them with bored regard before moving along. Good.

In the press of the crowd, he curls an arm around Sophie’s back, following the flow of people. He scans the mass of people, humans poor and rich alike, skins of all shades showing, wealthy dwarven traders, a few city elves, thin and hunched, slip through the crowds in servant garb. The city is as big as he heard, the roads paved in cobblestone, warm stone gilded with gold and dotted with fine statues. Fenris’ scowls at the ostentatious display of wealth. He cannot deny though, they can hide here. Slip unseen in the masses. Just another woman of wealth and her servant, as much as Fenris bristles at the role.

“Where are we going?” Sophie asks, leaning close.

“An Inn. Somewhere to rest.” Fenris answers. Sophie nods, lifting her gaze to the buildings around them. All were tall, balconies common. As the roads cleared, he let Sophie drift out of his hold, falling back half a step behind. It discomforts him how easy it is, to fall back into a role he abandoned a decade ago. Even with his hand on her elbow, subtly steering Sophie along the affluent street in search of an inn, it chafes like an itch under his skin.

They pass a market, breathe in the scent of fresh bread, roasting meats in stalls offering baked pies and finely sliced meat cooked and stuck on thin sticks. His mouth waters, belly reminding him how long it’s been since he ate.

“This Inn better have some bloody food.” Sophie grumbles, looking longingly at stalls.

“They usually do.” He answers. Their coin is better served gathering supplies for the journey to come. The horses took any spare supplies with them, all that remains is what he and Sophie carry in their packs and the coin he stole from the dead, split between himself and Maeve. A short ways from the market, he spots a likely building, taller than the surrounding three story structures, its slanted red roof cheerful in the afternoon sun. A well painted sign, swinging lazily in the sea breeze marks it as an inn.

Steering Sophie up the steps, he pulls open the carved oak door, tilting his head for her to go in.

“Oh, right. Thank you.” Sophie steps in, cheeks going pink. Through the door, they come to a common room, gleaming polished wood curving around the far side of the room to make a bar, it caps off to their left where a grey-haired dwarf innkeeper jots something down in her book. Sophie glances at Fenris over her shoulder before striding to the bar. The dwarf, well dressed in plain but meticulously made clothing, aged cheeks marked with old tattoos looks up with a welcoming smile.

“Messere, welcome!” She affects a modest bow. “Are you here for a room?” Sophie nods, returning the dwarf’s smile with a polite one of her own.

“Yes, please. A bed for myself and my companion.” She says. The dwarf’s gaze flicks over Fenris with little interest, but her smile doesn’t budge an inch.

“Travelled far did we?” She asks attention returning to Sophie. “Would you be wanting a bath prepared? It’s included in the cost for the night.”

“Which is?” Sophie asks. To Fenris’ surprise, it doesn’t cost nearly as much as he expects though both their combined purses are lighter. Sophie secures them a pair of meals, one this evening, another in the morning, and takes the room key with a polite thank you. A serving elf summoned by the Inkeep leads them up two flights of steps to a solid looking door decorated with swirling lines like decorative vines. Inside the room is as he expects, a fine bed large enough for two by one wall, a small cot like bunk beneath the window overlooking the street. He smothers a sigh, setting down his pack. Of course.

“Is everything to your liking?” The elf asks, inclining his head towards Sophie. She frowns at the beds, glancing at Fenris.

“This will be fine.” He says, placing a sovereign into the elf’s hand.

“Very good. When would you like the bath prepared?”

“Later.” Sophie says, still staring at the two beds. “In the evening, please.” She drops her bag to the floor, a faint tremor in her shoulders the only sign that something is wrong. The elf bends into a bow, hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him. On cue, Sophie lets out a shuddery sigh, starts pulling at the gauntlets covering her hands with jerky desperate movements.

Fenris lets out a slow sigh, and starts pulling himself free of the cloak around his shoulders. His sword he sets by the table. Sophie dumps her gloves and quiver on the bed, pulls frantically at the cloak, a scared animal whine building in her throat that hits Fenris in the gut like a fist.

“I c-can’t- I can’t-” She tears the cloak over her head, lets it drop and fumbles at her armour, undoing the ties by her throat. “I can’t breathe… I-” Her knees buckle and Fenris is too slow to stop her hitting the floor.

“Sophie,” He breathes. Her hands claw at the buckles.

“I can’t breathe- I-” Sophie fumbles the buckles undone pulling and twisting until she can wiggle her arms free.

“It’s okay,” Fenris murmurs, he tugs the sleeves free from her hands and eases away as Sophie collapses onto the floor. She sobs, shaking, pulling at her hair, curling up as small as she could manage. Heart aching, Fenris sits himself beside her, holds still as her weight leans into his thigh. “You’re safe, Sophie.” He tells her, even if it’s they both know it’s a lie.

Time passes, the light changes. Eventually, the trembling slows, and then stops. Sophie’s breath evens out and after a few minutes more, she pushes herself to up lean back against the bed. Fenris angles his head, takes in her face, skin blotchy and red, eyes almost green from tears. She doesn’t meet his gaze, bowing her head.

“Are you-?” He starts and she jerks.

“I’m sorry. I’m-” She sniffs. “Sorry that was…”

“Clearly needed.” Fenris says. Sophie’s shoulders stiffen and his stomach twists. “I have seen hardened men come away from an attack like that barely able to stand, much less walk to a city and play a role in a world they do not know. I would not expect anyone to experience that and remain unaffected.” Through a curtain of brown hair, Sophie peeks at him.

“That-..” She clears her throat, wipes at her face. “That’s not usually what I hear after a meltdown like that.” Fenris hums in answer, looks away while she rebuilds herself.

“What do you hear?” He asks. Sophie scoffs, running her fingers through her hair.

“Oh the usual.” She says, voice raw. “Get over it. Stop freaking out. Pull yourself together.” She sucks in a shuddering breath he feels. “Because you know, I can totally control it.” She snaps, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Because I’m just faking being the way I am.”

“Afraid?” Fenris asks. Callousness he knew, cruelty from others for being less than nothing in their eyes. An elf, a slave. Property. Just an object to use. His fear was a weakness they could use. But her? What could she be that they would see as lesser?

“No,” Sophie answers and sniffs. She leans her head back, eyes flicking over the ceiling. “My brain works a little differently. Sometimes everything becomes too much and too loud. I can almost feel sound.” She licks her lips, looks at him, gaze focused on his nose. “It’s why I don’t always look people in the eyes. It’s… Honestly, it’s pretty hard half the time. It’s too much information coming in. I can’t filter anything out. When that…”

“Mage.” He supplies and Sophie gives a breathless laugh.

“I was gonna say bitch, but sure. When she did that glowy thing, it was like everything was turned to eleven. Blinding light and noise and every nerve dipped in alcohol and set on fucking fire.” Sophie drops her head back. “Worst sensory overload ever.” Frowning, Fenris turns her words over, teasing them together like pieces of a puzzle. What she describes matches his experience of a psychic blast, but to her it seems so familiar.

“And people do not believe this?” He studies her face.

“Sometimes. Sometimes they choose to see it as…” Sophie sighs. “Fucked if I know. That it makes me wrong.” Ah. “People are assholes.”

Despite his concern, Fenris smiles. “That they are.” Sophie shivers beside him, her presence growing warmer as she shifts closer.

“Is… That woman… The mage. You knew something was wrong.” She says. He feels her gaze tracing the planes of his face, never quite reaching his eyes.

“It was the way she spoke.” Fenris says.

“So she was Tevinter? Are…” Sophie scoffs and he feels her breath on his neck. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this but, they’re not all… Not every…” He doesn’t need to guess what she means. He should tell her that he is the wrong person to ask. But… But.

“No.” Fenris says and sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “No. Perhaps in Tevinter yes, it’s the only way of life we know. Mages have power and they use it to keep themselves above all others. But I have come to know… to trust that there are those that recognise how dangerous their magic is. Who use it well. Hawke is one such mage.” He still sees their first meeting clearly, the slim delicate woman, brown hair falling from it’s bun, staff in hand as she fought beside him. He was so wary, so ready for a betrayal, he didn’t see her friendship creeping under his skin until it was almost too late. He misses her company. “She saw it as a responsibility to be wise, to keep her magic from becoming a danger to others.”

“But?” Sophie presses and Fenris tries to smother his smile. She is too clever.

“There are those that don’t see it that way.” He says. Sophie hums, worries at her bottom lip.

“Like that Tevinter mage.” She straightens, pushing herself up to lean forward, arms braced over her knees. “Power, responsibility. Power without restraint corrupts.” She murmurs, rolling her shoulders back. “So. Cumberland. We have to find a ship to get us to Jader, right?” Sophie straightens, undoes her belt and pulls her coat off completely.

“We do.” Fenris says, eyeing her with a bemused quirk of his lips. Sophie’s ability to set things aside and focus on what is in front of her is admirable. And sadly necessary. “And soon.” He glances at the light filtering from the window. “We may need to wait the night.”

“Good thing we got a room then. Supplies?” Sophie asks, looking back at him, only the lingering redness and strain in her eyes giving her away.

“In a city this large, it may be prudent to get what we can.” Fenris says and stands, glancing down at the discarded armoured coat.

“I have to put that back on, don’t I?” Sophie asks. Fenris’ lips pull into a wry smirk. She sighs. “Shit.”

The streets are a little more clear at this hour. Still, Fenris stays close to Sophie’s side as they wind their ways towards the docks. She’s more at ease now, taking in the grandeur around them with appreciative eyes, tracing nobles in their finery, peering at the wares as they pass through another market. It’s only when Sophie veers to the lane of food vendors that he realises he hasn't been watching the street around them. Ears flushing hot, Fenris shakes away his distraction, accepting the stuffed roll Sophie passes him with a soft thanks. He frowns as he eats, following the cobblestone streets towards the docks, painfully aware of the woman by his side. The feeling lingers even while they go from First-mate to Captain seeking passage to Jader.

By luck, they get a small cabin on a trading ship that ferries passengers for extra coin, the promise of privacy, and swift smooth sailing. The First mate, a pale Orlesian in grease stained trousers, does nothing to hide his suggestive leer as he holds his hand for Sophie to shake. His hands linger on hers, forcing Sophie to pull her hand free with a forced smile that makes Fenris bristle. She rubs her gloved hand against her leg once they’ve left the docks.

“That guy was a creep, right? I didn’t just imagine it?” She asks, looking up at him.

“If you mean what I think, then yes.” Fenris answers and she shudders.

“Okay. Never let me be alone with him, okay?” Sophie says, and it comes so easily Fenris’ ill mood deepens. Thinking in such a way often comes from experience, first hand or of loved ones. No. Not his place to ask or wonder. And yet.

“I won’t.” He says, and means it. Sophie flashes him a quick smile.

“Supplies?”

“Yes.” Thankfully, neither need much, but they purchase food to last the three day trip across the waking sea, hard cheeses from Antiva that Sophie sniffs with relish, dried strips of beef from Rivain, and apples.

“Last from the season.” The seller tells him with a wrinkled smile. He’s a wiry human, short and dark skinned. “Still good.” He says with a grin as Fenris turns one over in his hand.

“Promise?” Sophie asks with an answering grin and the old man laughs. He cuts her a piece from one to try and she takes a bite before offering it to Fenris. “It’s good! Go on.” Uncomfortably warm, he takes the piece and pops it into his mouth and chews. Still juicy and sweet, a touch tart. Sophie beams. “Two dozen please.” The old man picks out some of the best from his table and haggles the price so playfully, even Fenris starts to smile. Once coin exchanges hands, Sophie tosses Fenris an apple and wades back into the crowd. “Still hungry?” She asks over the head of a passing dwarf mercenary.

“Yes.” Fenris answers with a sigh, shaking his head as Sophie heads to another stall. The day fades that way; Sophie indulging her curiosity, Fenris following after like an exasperated shepherd munching on an apple. At least it’s not boring. Slowly, whatever barriers Sophie had erected around herself, start to ease down as the sun sinks towards the horizon, and with it comes a personality he’s only glimpsed at before. She jokes with a dwarf selling blank books bound in leather, teases Fenris when he turns his nose up at boots thrust their way, and spends more time he thought possible picking over yarn before she’s satisfied with a few bundled hanks of spun wool in various shades of green and grey.

Returning to the inn is a relief, one that comes with something wistful that settles low in Fenris’ chest. He pauses to ask for their bath to be prepared while Sophie climbs the stairs upwards, her hum leading him back to their room.

“You’re in a better mood.” Fenris says, closing the door behind him.Sophie strips off her gloves and shrugs.

“Sometimes, I like people.” She says and starts on her armoured coat.

“Only sometimes?” He asks, setting down their purchased food and she chuckles.

“Sometimes they’re too much. Sometimes, they’re good.” She hands her coat over the back of a chair and stretches her arms over her head with a sigh Fenris tries to ignore as he sorts the bundles into small piles. “So, tomorrow evening, the ship sets sail. Which means we have a night and a day to deal with.” Sophie sits, hooking one leg over the other.

“You have a point?” Fenris raises a brow, packing away half their food into his pack. The rest would go to her.

“Not really. Just wondering what the play is. Stay hidden ‘till we go, or have another jaunt.”

Fenris sighs, and sits across from her, leaning his arms on the tabletop. “As large as this city is, you may still be hunted. Staying out of sight would be wisest.”

“It would be.” Sophie says agreeing. She picks up an apple and rolls it between her palms. “Good thing we have reading material.” She says, stormy eyes sparkling. Fenris had picked a volume of collected folk tales from a pile while Sophie argued over yarn. He’d handed it over, eliciting a laugh.

“You do at least.” Fenris says. She snorts, and digs out one of her folded utility knives. She cuts her apple apart, heedless of Fenris’ baffled stare until she pops a piece into her mouth.

“What?” She asks, cheek stuffed full of apple.

“You cut your apple.” He says.

“And?”

The tips of his ears start to burn and he drops his gaze for a moment.“Why not simply eat it?”

“Oh. Uh, funny and only slightly horrific backstory.” Solfie wipes her knife clean and folds it up. “When I was around six, I had this friend, Ruth. Sweet kid. And we both loved apples so we’d save ours to the end of a school day to eat ours. And uh one day, she had a couple of loose baby teeth.” Sophie snaps a piece of apple in half and offers it to him. “So on this day, she bites into her apple and makes this weird face.” Sophie says and takes a bite of her piece. She chews, swallows. “And has to pull the thing away from her face. Suddenly, there’s blood coming down her face.” Sophie mimes, brushing her fingers over her chin. “She’s screaming, freaking out cos her teeth have come out, and are stuck in the apple. I’m freaking out, cos she won’t stop bleeding and her teeth are in the fucking apple.” Fenris looks down at the apple piece between his fingers and back to Sophie. “Been afraid of biting into an apple ever since.”

“I… see.” Fenris says, staring as Sophie pops another piece into her mouth and chews. “Was she alright?”

“Hmm?” Sophie shrugs. “Yeah, she got over it. But she never ate apples for as long as I knew her and like I said…” She waves at the pile of pieces before her.

“You’re ridiculous.” Fenris says before he can stop himself. Sophie’s brows arch before a laugh bursts from her mouth.

“Basically.” She says, rising to answer the knock at their door. It’s their bath, two elves carrying in a copper tub and returning with buckets of water. Sophie hovers by the table, as visibly uncomfortable as Fenris feels at the display of service. One of the elves drops an enchanted token into the water while the other presents them with linen towels, washcloths, and a small slice of soap for their use. Once they’ve set up a privacy screen, thank the Maker, they bow and leave. Sophie gawks after them, blinking down at the towels in her arms. “Well then.” Fenris doesn’t look up from the tabletop, tracing the whorls in the wood with his eyes. “Uh, how do we-?”

“You do first. I will go after.” And ignore the other side of the room until their bath is done. Simple enough.

“I…” Sophie sucks in a breath. “Alright. I won’t be long.” Fenris grunts his acknowledgement, opening the book he bought. He does not listen to the rustle of cloth as Sophie undresses. He does not glance at the screen when she sighs, the sound of water sloshing against the tub. Fenris scans the pages before him with as much focus as he gives everything else, pointedly ignoring any sounds that drift from behind the privacy screen. Mercifully, Sophie is as fast as she promises, reappearing in his field of view damp, dabbing at her hair with a towel and very much dressed. Fenris doesn’t meet her gaze as he collects his things and strips down behind the screen. The water is still hot, and he leans back, closing his eyes as the heat seeps into his limbs.

What is wrong with him? Years he spent with Isabela, the serving women (and a few men) at the Hanged Man bending enough to show him the curves of their breasts, brushing into him, offering with their eyes. Even once Isabela and Hawke fell into a relationship, the Rivaini woman insisted Fenris have a tumble with anyone. He refused. He had no interest, any attraction to Hawke fading into a firm friendship he treasures now more than any tryst he could have had. And Sophie… Fenris sighs cupping water in his hands to pour over his head. Sophie needed him to help her, not to stare at her like the First-mate at the docks. Any… Attraction he may have towards her will be better off ignored in favour of protecting her until Haven. And then… Fenris works the soap in his hand and starts to lather himself, ignoring the vague pressure in his groin, which is entirely coincidental. When he climbs out to dry himself, another knock pulls him from his thoughts about what is to come. Head cocked, he listens to Sophie’s steps, the quiet murmur of another voice and the door close.

“We have food.” Sophie calls out, and Fenris forces himself to relax. He dresses, and steps around the screen. Sophie cleared the table while he bathed, and she sets up their meal, dripping water from her hair turning the back of her odd shirt semi transparent. Shame flushes through him and Fenris clears his throat to announce his presence.

“What did they send?” He asks, avoiding the smile he sees on her lips. The food smells incredible to his hungry stomach, and as he sits, it seems an indulgent feast.

“Roast meat. Vegetables.” Sophie says sitting across from him. “Bread, cheese, I think this is wine.” She says lifting a carafe from the tray. Ah. Alcohol. Of course. Fenris pours himself a cup and one for her, and takes a fortifying drink. They don’t talk much, sharing the food equally and eating their fill, Sophie easily eating as much as he. When she clears her plate, she sighs and leans back, eyes closing. Fenris looks away from her pale neck and stares longingly at the carafe. He shouldn’t. His tongue gets… looser on wine. Safer to avoid it. Instead he tidies their table, stacking their plates and putting the tray outside their door for collection. He throws the lock, just for security and returns to his seat, fingers itching for something to occupy himself with. He refills his cup with water and takes a sip.

“You are… full?” He asks and immediately regrets his choice of words. The corner of Sophie’s mouth quirks, her gaze flicking from the far window to him.

“Yes. You?”

He nods. “It was satisfactory.”

Sophie hums. “Good. I was starving.” She leans back in her chair, braces her foot on the seat and fixes him with a look. “You sure you won’t go gaga stuck in a room with me?” She asks. Fenris blinks. She wasn’t… Was she? No. But still, the words that cross his mind flow from his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I can think of a few things to distract ourselves with.” Vishante kaffas. Sophie simply hums, prods at the book she left on the table.

“Well, reading I guess.” She says and Fenris silently thanks whatever deity may be listening.

“For one." He says over the rim of his cup. Yes. Reading. Or… His gaze falls on his pack. He bends and digs through it for the slim deck Varric gifted to him years ago. Straightening, Fenris sets the deck of cards on the table. “Wicked grace. Care to play?”

Sophie smiles. “If you’re trying to get me out of my clothes you gotta buy me like, twenty more dinners first.” Fenris blinks, mind scrambling to make sense of her words before laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, would you like to practice?” He asks and Sophie shifts in her chair to face him.

“Sure.”

It’s different with just the two of them. Without Donnic or Sebastian to buffer, a silence falls between them, punctuated by the whisper of the cards and the crackle of the fire. And as much as she claims to have trouble reading people, meeting their gaze, she is quite implacable as she studies her hand and makes her first bet. They play for nuts and after the first round, Fenris gathers the pile towards him.

“See, I’m bad at these games.” Sophie says and eats one of her nuts. Chuckling, Fenris gestures for her to shuffle the deck.

“You’re still learning.”

“Uh huh.” Sophie sticks out her tongue and cuts the deck and resumes shuffling. “My deal right?”

They play again. And again. Sophie wins her first hand in their fourth round, her second their sixth. She concedes the last to him with a laugh, stealing a handful of nuts from the ‘pot’. “You have the best poker face I have ever seen.” Fenris smiles, pleased, as he collects the cards into a neat pile.

“A friend of mine once advised me that there are no tells, not in truth. You simply need to figure their tactics.”

“And yours are?” Sophie asks.

“A secret.” He says and she waves a hand.

“Bah. I’m a big girl, I can handle the truth.” Sophie says.

“Which is?”

“You’re very good at this game.” Sophie grins, flicking a nut at him. It hits Fenris’ chest and he scoffs.

“Not as good as some.” He sets the deck aside, looking in time to watch Sophie yawn. He glances at the window. The sky is long dark, only the lamps giving them light. It had been a long day, a hard end to a hard journey. “Tired?”

“Yeah. You won the game, you take the bed.” Sophie says and starts to rise.

“An experienced hand against a beginner is no fair game. You are tired.” Fenris says. “You need to rest while you can.”

“Yeah I can take that lil cot, thing.” Sophie yawns again, covering her mouth. “I’m small enough.”

“There’s no need.” Fenris says. He’s used to cots, and worse.

“It is big enough for the both of us. I won’t bite.” Sophie says blandly and Fenris’ ears flush. He ducks his head, tries to laugh it off as just another one of her jokes.

“Tempting as that is,” He says, ignoring the things his mind conjures, the scent of her clean skin, the feel of her drying hair, how warm her skin would be. “I believe I won the game. The bed is yours.” He says and rises. He crosses the room in several long strides, extinguishing the lamps as he goes, leaving Sophie one by the bed. As he climbs into the low cot, he hears a soft breathy laugh.

“You cheeky bugger.” Sophie says. Rolling onto his side, Fenris listens to her stand, pad to the bed and climb in. “Goodnight Fenris.” She says and he closes his eyes and lets out a long slow breath.

“Rest well, Sophie.”

◆

She’s alone when she wakes. Fenris isn’t in his cot, the bath tub is gone, and the sunlight is blocked by heavy curtains. He let her sleep. She smiles, rolling onto her back, stretching out her limbs with a pained groan.

Yesterday sucked ass. Scrubbing her hands over her face, Sophie forced herself to take in a slow and easy breath. All those people… Winnifred and Callum, the shyer Heine that turned pink whenever Sophie spoke to him. Dead. Pushing herself up to sit, she sighs, running her fingers through her hair. Then the meltdown which was just… embarrassing. And exhausting, the hangover from her breakdown lingering like a headache. She closes her eyes and unbidden, lovely shades of green spring to mind, intelligent and warm with humour. Fenris. Fuck.

He made the day better. The patience, the understanding. _‘I would not expect anyone to experience that and remain unaffected’_. And then… everything else. A perfect gentleman; teasing but never straying any further, never crossing a line. Even when she stuck her foot in her mouth about sharing the bed. Sophie groans, dropping her face into her hands. Yeah, just jokingly throw yourself at the poor man when you’re not even in the right head space for sex. He took it well, teasing back, and giving up the bed, and giving her the space she really needed. Gods, what did he think of her? Probably that she’s rattled and scared. Which isn’t wrong.

That just leaves… everything that comes next.

Rubbing at her neck, Sophie leans out of the bed to dig out her folio, taking comfort in the feel of smooth brown leather beneath her fingers, the familiar motions of unzipping it open, picking a pen and turning to a fresh page in her journal. A single word becomes a torrent that fills one page and then another until words become shapes, smoking forms beside Umber’s imperious face framed by tall stones reaching to the sky. Then balconies, people, wide flowing skirts and narrow waists, stout dwarves, slender elves like ghosts between the crowd, tall grey men and women with horns. What did Fenris call them? Vashoth? Different from the Qunari. He’d explained but Sophie couldn’t pull the words together.

Looking over the page, dense with sketches, her fingers smeared with deep purple ink, Sophie sighs and caps her pen, pulling her knees to her chest. This could get worse. Please don’t let it get worse. She thinks it like a prayer, rubbing her fingers over her bracelet, feeling the runes worked into the metal.

Wood creaks, and Sophie lifts her head in time to see Fenris swing the door open, a tray balanced in his hands. He hip checks the door closed and gives her a warm glance, lips pulling into a subtle smile.

“You’re awake.”

“Nope. I am, infact, still asleep.” Sophie waggles her hands, crosses her legs, anything to distract from the warmth creeping up her neck. “This is all a dream. Woooo.” Fenris snorts, rolling his eyes and sets the tray down on the table by the wall.

“Then I have no need to share breakfast.” He says, lifting the cover off the small platter, releasing the scent of bacon.

“Oh that’s just mean.” Sophie grumbles, clambering off the bed. Fenris laughs, low and rumbling, taking his seat. He picks up a fresh looking roll and tears it apart, steam spilling into the air. Sophie sinks into her chair. “Damn, that looks good.” Fresh rolls, crispy bacon, a small pot of fresh cream, honey comb, and pastries dotted with fruit. Sophie grabs a roll and tears it in half, breathing in the steam.

“I was very glad to find the honeycomb.” Fenris says, tearing a piece of bacon into smaller bits and stuffing them into his roll.

“Not as happy as I am.” Sophie uses a spoon to carve a piece of comb for herself, smearing it over the hot bread in her hand, adding cream on top. “You have no idea how much I love honey.” Leaving the roll to absorb the cream, Sophie flicks out her utility knife, cutting one of their apples into slices. She shares the pieces with Fenris, who chuckles, biting into one with relish. Cheeks warm, Sophie adds the pieces to her roll and folds it up, taking a bite. The apple crunches, sweetened by the honey and cream, and warmed by the hot bread. She groans, earning another laugh from the man across from her.

“You’re welcome.” He says, mouth pulling into a smirk and Sophie lobs a piece of apple at him. He catches it and pops it into his mouth, following up with his roll. He sighs, eyes drifting shut as he chews. Sophie’s neck heats again and she makes herself look away. Focus on eating. Calm the fuck down, woman.

They clear the plates in no time, splitting the honey comb to share with the last roll. Sophie bounces her leg, happy and full. There was only one thing that could make it better.

“You think we could ask them to make some tea?” She asks.

“I believe they would.” Fenris answers, stacking the plates on the tray. “I’ll ask when I take these down.”

“You know I can do that.” Sophie says and Fenris arches a brow.

“In your bed clothes? Scandalous.” He teases, standing. “Milk?”

“Please.” Sophie says and watches him go. Yeah. She’s screwed.

By the time he returns, Sophie’s managed to get her head on straight, changing into proper clothes, making the bed, and repacking her bag. She’s set up her sketchbook on the table to continue her sketching, working with pencil to turn light lines into a woman in one of the most ridiculous gowns she’s ever seen in person. Fenris peers at the sketch, leaning over her to better see the page.

“How do you do this?” He asks as Sophie pours tea for the both of them.

“The sketch?”

He shakes his head. “Recall it from memory.”

“Oh.” Sophie adds a dash of milk to his mug before passing it over. “Practice, I guess. I doubt it’s an accurate rendering, just capturing the impression I got.”

Fenris hums, dragging his seat to join her. “Perhaps if you had a picture?” He glances at her. Sophie grins.

“Yeah. Photo reference would’ve helped.” She blows the steam from her tea, studying Fenris as he studies the sketch.

“You taught this.” He says eventually, gaze flicking to hers. She wills herself not to colour, nodding in answer. “Could you teach me?” Fenris asks. Sophie blinks.

“You wanna learn to draw?”

“You think I can’t?” Fenris’ brows arch and Sophie shakes her head, fighting down a grin.

“I do think you can. It’s just a long process.” Flipping to a blank page, Sophie slides the sketchbook closer to the elf, holding out the clutch pencil for him to take. “We can start one of two ways. You show me what you can draw, or we start from the very beginning.” Fenris hesitates a moment before taking the pencil, turning it over between his fingers.

“I never tried before, so the very beginning.” He says quietly, looking at her from under his hair. It’s almost shy, boyish, wary of some kind of rebuke or mockery. She knows that feeling painfully well. Sophie nods, smiling gently and taps the page.

“Alright. Lines.” With a pen, Sophie marks two dots on either side at the top on the page. “Line is where everything starts. Straight lines, point to point. Start here, focus your eye on where you want to go, and in one confident stroke.” She creates a line, no wobbles, only a slight curve. He picks it up fast, all those years of sword work, horizontal lines, vertical, diagonal, again and again and again until it was close enough to perfect, adjusting how he moved his arm at Sophie’s advice. By the time the teapot was empty and cold, he has the page two thirds full of cross hatched lines. Sophie taps his arm. “Take a break, yeah? Don’t wanna bung up your wrist.”

Fenris gives her another one of his low laughs, setting down the pencil and flexing his hand. “You speak from experience?”

“A little. Lifetime or writing and drawing,” She wiggles her fingers. He snorts, sliding the book back to her.

“I interrupted. Continue,” Fenris says, green eyes locked on hers. “Please.”

“Sure.” Sophie licks her lips, picking up her pencil. “Any requests?”

Fenris shrugs. “Anything you like.”

Whatever she likes ends up being an old favourite. Trees. Twisty, gnarled, ancient looking trees. The process is easy and familiar enough, Sophie forgets she has an audience, sketching out the rough shape with flowing lines, carving form from nothing. A single tree, twisting from the earth, surrounded by stones. Rippling bark, the shadow of leaves, marks carved into stone. At some point Fenris stands, refills her tea and tends to his armour, cleaning and oiling the joints of his gauntlets. The next time Sophie looks up, Fenris is armoured, double checking his pack, green eyes amused as Sophie yawns and stretches.

“How soon till we go?” She asks.

“An hour. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Fenris says. Sophie squints at him.

“I mean you probably should’ve,” She says and yawns again, flexing her fingers to work out the kinks. He chuckles, white hair falling over his eyes. “Thanks for letting me doodle.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sophie repacks her things, pulls on the jack-of-plate coat, looping her knife belt about her hips. It still doesn’t feel quite right, the weight, the deadly possibility under her hand. She’s trained with her bow, never anything less than a weapon, sparred, even went all out on a field with other lunatics with armour and blunted weapons. But the forged silverite on her hips is live, as dangerous as the greatsword on Fenris’ back. Following him into the street, into the fresh sea and and pungent smells of the city, Sophie grips the hilt of one of her daggers, rolls her shoulders back and affects the confident take-no-shit stride that’s been carrying her through Cumberland so far. She knows how to fake it. She’s done it before.

It’s loud, as cities always are, sounds layering over one another until it’s a low roar she can’t filter out. It’s easier to focus on the visuals, the gilded stone catching the sunlight, the marble statues, banners hanging from balconies. A wealthy man saunters by, all hips, scarlet cloth embroidered with coppery threads, a polished gorget around his throat, brown hair swept back from his tanned face. He gives her a smile, inclining his head as he passes, and Sophie nods back and keeps walking. Try as she might she can’t make sense of the fashions. Some are familiar, connected to dates, 14th century Italy, 12 century Middle Europe, and some are completely new, high collars with bare shoulders, obi like belts around tunics and gowns. Puffy sleeves, codpieces, almost Elizabethan collars, and now and then, severe looking men and women in priestly black, subtly decorated with skulls and bones. Sophie wishes she could ask. She wants to know everything.

They reach the docks in good time, Fenris giving a disgusted grunt as they pass piles of abandoned fish turning foul. The sounds are different, rough voices yelling, laughing, the creak of ropes and wood over the slap of water. The smell of it brings her back to docks in Newcastle, holding her grandmother’s hand. The memory makes her wobble, stumble around a passing sailor and Fenris catches her by the elbow, steadies her as they pause by a ramp. Their ship, a broad and deep bellied trading vessel named the _Dracolisk_ boasted blue sails, fading paint, and an unnecessarily creepy first mate named Gaston, of all things, with an accent that was halfway between French and something else. Orlesian. _Fucking wonderful_. He’s at the top of the ramp leading to the deck, smiling cheerfully when he spots her, gaze a little low to be focused on her face.

“Welcome, welcome.” He dips his head in a half bow. “So wonderful to see you again, messere.” Revulsion slithers down Sophie’s back so intensely she almost stops. It’s Fenris’ hand on her shoulder that keeps her moving, her booted feet hitting the deck. Gaston gives him a considering look before resuming his smile, leering at the elf. “I’ll see you later, mon-petite,” he says turning back to new arrivals, a pair of green looking dwarves. Shuddering, Sophie glances at a scowling Fenris, stepping closer to his side when a weather worn sailor in white and blue slips out of a doorway and beckons them.

“Passengers this way. Come, come.” He leads them through a narrow passage lined with simple sliding doors and hammocks hanging in rows. Sliding one door open, he waves Sophie and Fenris into a small cramped room, lit by a lantern and a thin open window. A table and a small bench nailed to the floor sit on one wall, on the other is a bunk built into the dividing wall. “For messere,” The sailor says, gesturing to the bunk, and jerks his chin to the nearest hammock. “And ser.” He gives Fenris a dismissive glance and Sophie frowns. “Galley down the ways. You can be up on deck as much as you like, just stay out of the sailors’ way.” The sailor steps out of the tiny cramped room, shouting something to another sailor that soon passes by.

Sophie drops her pack on the table.

“You have got to be kidding me.” She snaps, and Fenris sighs, sliding the door shut, testing the latch with a critical eye.

“Which part?” He asks.

“Giving you a freaking hammock. Not even in the room. There’s enough room for a second bunk in here.” Sophie says rapping her knuckles on the railing above the bunk. For luggage perhaps. Stupid waste of space. When Fenris doesn’t reply, she cants her head at him. He’s staring at her, brows lifted over his eyes. “What?” Sophie asks. Fenris drops his gazes and gives his head a little shake.

“I am an elf.” He says.

“A- Oh.” Sophie’s cheeks flush. Great. Another verbal fuck up. Of course. Elves are, to most, second class citizens. It’s why Fenris chose to act like a bodyguard in their little ruse. No one would give him a second look, or question a noble woman with a personal bodyguard. “It’s still bullshit.” She growls. Fenris gives a weak smile.

“Agreed.” He sets his bag beside hers, leans his sword by the table and sinks onto the bench. Sophie pulls off her gloves and drops them onto the bunk.

“Sorry, I…” She sits, pushing herself back till she can lean against the wall. “It’s fucking bullshit.”

“You have never treated me as lesser. You have nothing to apologise for.” Fenris says with a slight shrug of his slim shoulders.

“How about humans are shit, and sorry for that?” She quips back and gets a grin.

“Unnecessary, but appreciated.”

Sophie scoffs. “So. Three days on a boat with Creepy McCreep face. How to pass the time?”

Fenris reaches into his bag and lifts out his deck of cards, setting them on the table with a wry smirk.

A few rounds of Wicked Grace later and Sophie’s embarrassment fades. He’s going easy on her, she’s sure of it, every other round a neat little victory for her. She gives up any kind of serious play in favour of seeing what kind of ridiculous combinations she could get until Fenris figures out her game and confiscates her cards. A bell ringing on the deck draws them up, and they take a place along the railing as the _Dracolisk_ sets sail. A stiff wind buffets them as the ship turns south, sharp and cold but gloriously clean. Sophie breathes it in, watches the waves as the ship cuts through the water. A tension leaves her shoulders and neck, melting away the more they pick up speed.

When the other passengers filter away to whatever distractions, Sophie nudges Fenris’ elbow with her own.

“Why do you think she did it?” She asks. The fierce breeze snatches her words away. Fenris bends, leans his arms on the railing.

“Who?”

“Umber. Lurelia, whoever she is.” Sophie waves her hand, staring hard at the horizon. “Why? Why the fuck would someone go to all that effort for me?” The tips of Fenris’ gauntlets tap against the railing before he lets out a long slow sigh.

“I could think of any number of reasons. Perhaps they sought answers, perhaps… they thought you could possess something that would aid them. Perhaps simply because you are of interest.” A deep furrow appears between his brows, his profile stern and focused. “The reason we can hopefully uncover. All that matters is they hunt you.” He turns his face, brings that piercing gaze to her. “I will not let them take you.” A shiver passes down Sophie’s back and she tears her eyes from his, blinking away a sudden onslaught of tears, fingers clenching around the ship railing.

“I am so scared.” Sophie lets out a sharp laugh. “I am so fucking scared, but fuck,” She wipes at her eyes, glancing at Fenris. “I believe you.” She moves her hand, lightly grazes her fingers over the metal covering his arm. Fenris goes still and Sophie withdraws. “Sorry, I-” Fenris places his hand over hers.

“I am glad,” He says gently. “To have your trust.”

A hard wave hits the side of the _Dracolisk_ , spraying water into the air. And over them. Fenris scowls, shaking water from his face and Sophie chokes down a laugh. Fenris turns his scowl to her, and a cackle bursts from her chest. Beside her Fenris mutters something, barely heard over her laughter before flashing a grin that eases all the hardness from his face.

“Perhaps we should return to the cabin?” He says, clearing his throat.

Sophie nods. “Yeah. C’mon.”

They make a meal of left over rolls and dried meat, sitting on the low bunk together. He reads, Sophie draws in her sketchbook, adds to her journal.

At some point she dozes off, only rousing when their latched door rattles, Fenris tensing beside her. The lines on his skin pulse softly, glowing through the cloak draped around his shoulders. The door rattles again, someone knocking.

“Messere?” Gaston’s calls softly and Sophie’s stomach twists. She presses closer to Fenris’ side. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. “I have some wine to share with messere if she desires. Or perhaps the elf would enjoy some company?” Fenris lifts a finger to his lips and slowly climbs out of the bunk. The door rattles a final time and footsteps retreat, Gaston muttering as he goes. Sophie lets out a shaky breath, meeting Fenris’ gaze. He snarls something beneath his breath, double checking the lock.

“Did he… did he _just_ …?” She puts a hand over her chest. Her heart’s racing, blood pounding in her ears. That fucker. That mother fucking piece of shitberg. “Was he…?” The look Fenris gives her is sorrowful, the elf turning to pick up his sword and sit next to her on the bunk. He leans the weapon against the frame.

“I can’t say for certain.” He says, jaw clenching as he looks at the door.

“Right. I… I think you should stay here.” Sophie says, curling up in her half of the bunk. “Please.” Fenris’ head tilts, not looking away from the door.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on a personal note, this week was hard for me. We had a covid scare in my house that tested negative, thank the gods, but it was a hard couple of days while we waited. I just wanna say I hope all of you are keeping safe, taking care of your mental health. I'm really graetful for everyone of you that reads, leaves a kudo or a comment. Means a lot to me and I look foreward to seeing what you guys have to say.
> 
> Till next time: be well, nerds.


	8. Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself.
> 
> As always a lot of love to Underwaterattribute for playing beta and the folks at The Hanged Man for being lovely and amazing. Join us here if you like: https://discord.gg/9RERC6R It's 18+ only, and we're all pretty friendly.  
> And If you wanna chat you can find me on tumblr as https://weird-in-thedas.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Hope you're all holding up well. Look after yourselves, lovely nerds!  
> \- Cas

** Chapter 8 **

Sleep does not come easy. Sophie wakes at every noise and shift, looking down the bunk to find Fenris still there, eyes closed leaning against the bunk wall. His chest rises and falls, steady like a clock. She times her breathing to his, and falls into sleep that doesn’t break until Fenris rouses her for breakfast in the morning. The next day and night goes in a similar fashion, Wicked Grace, reading, another drawing lesson, turning lines into shapes. They take air on the deck, watch the water glint in the sunlight, silvery grey bodies of dolphins breaking the surface to Sophie’s delight. Dinner in the galley, cuts of fish and watered down wine, ignoring the heavy stare of Gaston on her shoulders and shadowing Fenris’ every move. Night comes, and Fenris sits on the bunk with her, eyes on the door as if daring it to rattle again. Blessedly neither of them seem to chafe at each other’s company despite the close quarters, falling into easy silences, taking the extra space when they need it on the deck. They have enough to distract themselves with, Fenris learning to draw shapes in perspective while Sophie naalbinds socks from the wool bought in Cumberland. Ferelden is cold, Sebastian warned her. Last thing they need is frozen footsies.

Day three finds her cramping, a warning flare of pain at the base of her back that warns of what’s to come. Nausea comes with it, Fenris eyeing her with concern as she clings to the rail and watches the faint blur of land on the horizon. When her cycle hits, every few months thanks to the implant in her arm, Sophie has her little silicone cup at least. That said, with a small supply of painkillers, coping with the cramps while travelling on foot is going to be a trial. What was the cultural status quo with menstruation? Orana never said, even when telling her to find an apothecary somewhere for… Something. Sophie can’t remember. The thought of bringing it up to Fenris just makes her stomach clench worse.

When the pain starts to creep to her back, Sophie gives up on standing and watching the waves and steps away from the railing. Fenris glances her with a frown furrowing his dark brows.

“Are you alright? You look pale.” He says. Sophie nods.

“Yeah just. A little weird.” The deck rolls beneath her feet, her stomach with it. “I think I should lay down.”

“I’ll join you.” Fenris turns. “Perhaps tea would help?” He calls back over his shoulder, crossing the deck on sure steady feet.

“Still barefoot.” Sophie mutters, following at a slower pace. “Never mind the splinters.” A nicely dressed woman with greying hair gives Sophie a scandalised look and Sophie beams at her in return, stepping lightly around coiled rope.

The passage to the cabins is cool and dim, and she relishes the quiet, trailing her fingers along the wall for balance. Everyone else is on deck, enjoying the sun and wind. Perfect opportunity for a nap.

Sophie’s pleasant thoughts come to a hard stop when she sees her door open, anxiety prickling at the back of her neck. Fenris would’ve closed their door. She knows he would. _Shit_. Growling under her breath, she straightens her back, and steps closer, picking up low voices, both male, both familiar.

“Don’t be so shy, mon-petite,” Gaston croons. “Your mistress need not know, eh? The appetites of men are wild things.”

“I have no interest in you. Leave. Now.” Fenris answers, voice flat. Dangerous. Sophie’s stomach twists, fire blooming in her chest. That prick. That _fucking prick!_ She strides to the doorway. Gaston stands in the middle of the small room, Fenris back by their bunk, shoulders curled, eyes locked on Gaston as the other man turns to Sophie with a smile that falls short of charming.

“Ah, messere. I was just-”

“Leave.” She snaps, stepping into the room. Gaston blinks, his smile growing deeper.

“Aha, so I misunderstood. Messere is possessive of the elf, no?” Behind him, Fenris’ expression darkens and the fire in Sophie’s chest burns hotter.

“You do not get to speak about him. Or to me.” She grits out. “Leave before I kick your ass to Helheim.”

Gaston smirks, a hand on the blade at his belt. “Then perhaps I will simply take-” Something in Sophie snaps.Riding a wave of hormones and fury born from helplessness and fear, Sophie darts forward with a shriek, snatching up the teapot on the low table. Gaston ducks, takes the pot to his shoulder, hot tea splashing over his head. It’s fine, the rest comes to her easy. Grip his shirt, use her momentum to pull him off balance right into the wall with a satisfying thunk. She fists her hand in his hair, pulls back, a dagger at his neck.

“When someone tells you to leave, you fucking leave you fetid, small brained, shit-heel.” She snarls. Gaston jerks, pushing and she shouts, slamming his face into the wall, and again for good measure. There’s a grunt, and Gaston twists, blood spraying from his nose. “What did I just fucking say!” Someone is breathing hard, panting, and it takes a moment to realise it’s her.

“Sophie…” Fenris says softly. He’s beside her, easing the weapon away from Gaston. “Let him go.” She bares her teeth.

“But he-”

“Will be dealt with.” A man’s voice interrupts. It’s owner, short, portly, balding, olive skin weathered and marked with black whorls creeping across his cheek, regarded the three of them with a blank face and darkly amused eyes. He leans a meaty shoulder against the door frame. Different accent, somewhere between Spanish and Italian. “If you would, messere.” He gestures to Sophie. She lets go, and Gaston sags to the floor, cupping his nose, glancing fearfully at the man in the doorway. “Boy, what did the lady say?” Gaston gurgles and the man sighs. “No, no, _cabron_ , with your words.” He gives Sophie a wink and turns his attention to blunt and very clean nails.

“To leave when told to.” Gaston answers from his knees.

“Good. Now if you would, messere, put the blade away. We are all friends here, no?” The man beckons. Fenris’ fingers squeeze her hand for a moment and she carefully slips the weapon back into its sheath. The man grins. “Allow me to apologise for this man’s deplorable behaviour.” He stands and affects a short showy bow. “Captain Louis Estoban, at your service. Unfortunate sire to this repugnant waste of flesh.” He barks something rapid and harsh and Gaston scrambles to his feet and flees the room. Sophie eyes the shorter man, Fenris eerily still beside her. The only resemblance he had to Gaston were the same colour eyes, murky and dark.

“His father.” She says.

Louis grimaces. “Barely. I had little to do with raising the whelp.” He waves a hand. “But rest assured, I am not as lenient as his mother.” He looks them over as if defining how much Fenris and Sophie are worth. “You enjoyed that.” He says with a slow smile.

“I don’t like bullies.” She answers and Louis laughs.

“No, and with any luck my bastard will hold this lesson close.” He strides forward, and Fenris shifts placing himself between Sophie and the smaller man. Louis chuckles, holding up a hand. “Be at ease, my friend. No harm is intended. Only a token of my gratitude for the lady’s mercy.” He steps around Fenris to take Sophie’s hand, pressing something smooth and cool into her palm. “My apologies, sweet lady. A man will be by to clean the wall for you.” Louis waves, dark eyes staring into her eyes in a way that left Sophie feeling exposed. He slips back and goes through the door, moving on feet so quiet he may as well have been a ghost. Sophie swallows hard, heart racing in her chest. It didn’t feel like enough. She lifts her gaze to Fenris, his shoulders tight, hands curled into fists.

He pulls in a slow breath as Sophie edges around him, hands held up for him to see.

“Fenris?” She asks. His breath hitches, green eyes flicking to her, throat working as he swallows. “Are you alright?” He sucks in a slow deep breath before letting it go, straightening his posture.

“That… You did not-” He bends his head, hiding his face from her. “That was dangerous. Why?” Fenris turns to her. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Sophie blurts out, “I didn’t. I know he’s a fucking creep. I know how it feels. I know I won’t let my friends face that alone.” She’s shaking, holding Fenris’ gaze. There’s something so very sad in all the green, that Sophie’s heart _aches_. “You should not have to deal with that.”

Fenris’ eyes flick over her face, hard mask softening. “I was in no danger.” He says gently, wearily, glancing at the door as someone in greys rush by.

“I know.” Sophie sighs and sinks onto the bunk. She tangles her hands together, rubs her fingers to work out the desire to hit something. “Didn’t doubt it.”

Fenris huffs, shaking his head. “It is a rare thing for another to come to my defence.”

“We’re friends,” Sophie says. “Of course I would.”

Fenris smiles gently, bending to pick up the dropped teapot. “For which I am grateful. Thank you, Sophie. ” He gently touches the tips of his armoured fingers to her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Dunno.” Anger still burns, her back aching, nausea making her stomach twist. But Fenris was the one backed into a corner. “You?”

“I am,” He says. Fenris looks down to her hands, brows furrowing as he sits on the bunk beside her “What did he give you?”

“Oh, uh…” Gently prying her fingers apart, Sophie opens her hand revealing a flat coin-like token made of dark metal that glints in the light. A bird is etched into the surface. A crow, clutching a dagger in its talons. Sophie holds it out and Fenris’ frown deepens as he takes the coin, turning it over in his fingers.

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, voice low, just loud enough for her to hear. Odd.

“Pretend I’m new here.” Sophie says and Fenris huffs a silent laugh.

“This is a Antivan Crow marker.” He says holding it up. “A no questions asked favour you can use for almost anything you want. A death, a life…Whatever an assassin can provide.” Ice shivers down Sophie’s spine. An assassin token. As an apology. Fenris turns, returning it to her hands. “I have seen a few of these, my…” His lips gain a bitter twist. “Old master, Danarius had a rather impressive collection of favours owed to him. The Captain must be an ally to these Crows.”

Sophie’s fingers tighten around the coin. And he just gave it to her. “I’m… not sure I want this.”

Fenris hums, leaning his arms on his knees. “Wiser to hold onto it. It could be useful. Or simply a token from this journey.”

Sophie snorts. “Some fucking journey. Attempted kidnapping, creepy assholes.” She sighs, backing herself into the corner of the bunk, unzipping her boots and kicking them off. “I don’t want to know what’s next.”

“Our luck?” Fenris’ lips curl into a smirk. “Wolves.”

Sophie makes a face. Ugh. Fuck off.”

His smirk grows. “Gurns, then.”

“Gur-what now?”

“Large, grey, horned beasts. Extraordinarily aggressive with an armoured ridge on their back.” Fenris’ carve shapes in the air, the spike of a horn, a high ridge. “Fast. Hardy. Quite difficult to kill.”

“Speaking from experience.” Sophie asks. Fenris shrugs, smile turning enigmatic.

“They’re not something you need worry about.”

“We hope.” Sophie swipes at his shoulder, ruffling the stiff leather on his shoulder. “You’re trying to scare me.”

Fenris shakes his head, standing. “I would do no such thing.” He says, heading for the door. “Rest.”

In the night, no one rattles at their door. Sophie huddles beneath a lantern, finishing work on a sock. Beside her Fenris sleeps, his long legs folded under his cloak, face slack in sleep. Even now he frowns, lip twitching as he dreams. He’d been quiet for most of the evening, turning to his book, or tending to his armour, turning in to sleep with the ship bell.

Stifling a yawn, Sophie shakes off a wave of sleepiness. She has to finish naalbinding this sock. The last thing she wants is frostbite with no modern medical treatment. Or blisters. She starts on one of the last rows when the elf beside her sucks in a sharp breath. Sophie stills, looking over to Fenris. His frown is deeper, and he shifts, eyes flicking beneath his eyelids. Hunching into himself, almost curling into a smaller ball, Fenris lets out a soft, near silent gasp with every shallow breath.

Sophie bites her lip, gingerly putting down her nalbinding. “Fen?” She calls, gently as she can. “Fen, hey…” Fenris twitches, curling tighter. Shit. “Fen, it’s alright. You’re safe.” Sophie braces herself on the bunk walls around her, carefully shifts to give him more room. Touching him is out of the question. Sophie’s mind can conjure all kinds of horrors Fenris had to live through, each worse than the last, and she knows how harm like that can linger. If she touched him, he’d likely think she’s whatever he’s so afraid of. “Fen?” She says gently. “You know what helps me when I have bad dreams? Music, so…” She licks her lips, and after a moment thought, starts to hum. It’s tuneless in the beginning, before the words come to mind and Sophie follows suit. It’s soft, sorrowful, _home is behind, the world ahead…_. As she hums, Sophie keeps her eyes on Fenris, watching the trembling beneath the cloak. She moves on to ‘In Dreams’ from Fellowship of the Ring and gradually, Fenris’ breathing slows, grows deep until he relaxes with a sigh, mumbling something under his breath, words Sophie can’t understand.

◆

The dawn paints Jader in bright pale colours, the sounds of Orlesian voices clamouring in Fenris’ ears. The Dracolisk docked in the dark, the shouts of sailors rousing the passengers from their sleep, sending them into the dim cold morning. Sophie sways a little where she stands, glaring at the crowd around them through her mussed hair. She is not a morning creature in any way, and despite her insistence on wellness, something ails her. She keeps close as he leads them through the crowds. They should eat, find a map or get directions, decide their next step south.

A chill wind gusts from the west, cutting through Fenris’ cloak and he shivers. And something warmer to wear over his garb. Following the scent of cooking food, Fenris brings them to a market, already bustling with people hawking wares and haggling over prices. Even here, so far from the capitol, men and women alike wore masks, all part of the great Game he’s heard of. Fenris’ lip curls as a woman in fabric so stiff with silvery thread it could be melted down for a necklace, brushes past, giving the pair a haughty glance.

“The fuck pissed in her cereal?” Sophie grumbles. Fenris barely smothers his laugh, steering them towards someone selling fresh buns, steaming in the morning air.

“A great number of things, I imagine.” He tells her and gets a faint smirk in response, the first glimpse of Sophie’s usual cheer he’s seen since the night before. Gaston’s unwanted advance was surprising in its boldness. Arrogant. He shudders to think of elven servants that travelled on the Dracolisk before him, tempering a long familiar rage and disgust. Sophie’s ‘rescue’ however, was welcome, bringing a smile to his lips whenever he looks at the woman shuffling beside him. No. Something else is wrong, Fenris is certain of it. He passes a few bits to a young elf for buns stuffed with fruit mince. The child looks up to him with wide eyes, and Fenris turns away to cut off any questions. “Here,” He offers a bun to Sophie and she takes it with a faint grimace. “You’re not hungry?”

“Oh, I’m hungry, just…” She wobbles her hand and takes a bite of the bun. No sign of enjoyment follows. Something is definitely wrong. He steers her further into the market, turning into an alcove to tug her hood off her head.

“What ails you?” He asks. Sophie frowns up at him.

“It’s fine.” She says and his fingers clench around his breakfast.

“It is not.” Fenris grits out. “The rest of the way to Haven will be hard, and I…” He shakes his head. Never mind his thoughts. “I worry for you. Please, let me help.” Something flashes in Sophie’s eyes before she groans, rubbing her fingers over her forehead.

“I…” Sophie groans again. “It’s awkward. Just a normal thing that happens.” She says, glancing past him as someone passes by. “Just womanly troubles, if that means anything to you.” She says voice low, cheeks turning pink. Fenris frowns. Womanly…? Oh.

“Ah. Your cycle.” He asks. That explains it. “You are in pain?” Sophie nods, still looking away, blushing and oddly embarrassed. “I see. I understand your wish for privacy, I apologise. But here at least, we can get you the supplies you need.”

Sophie glances at him, visibly uncertain. “This is usually the part where the bloke implies there’s something gross about it.”

Fenris almost drops his bun. “You have known some very poor men.” He says and Sophie snorts.

“You have no fucking idea. Lead on.”

He asks directions from the next vendor and they eat in silence as they wind their way through the crooked market paths. They find the right shop under a hanging sign bearing a mortar and pestle, door open to the street. Sophie follows him inside, peering at the bottles and jars of herbs and ingredients lining the shelves. It’s clean, smelling faintly of cardamom and incense, reminding Fenris uncomfortably of places Danarius frequented. Setting his discomfort aside, he approaches the counter waiting for the old woman, stooped with age but still bright eyed to set down her tools.

“What will you be needing, boy?” She asks mid grind, checking the consistency of the powder in her bowl.

“My friend, she needs tea and supplies for her time.” He says. The crone peers around his shoulder to Sophie, who was more focused on cannisters of tea. She glances back at him.

“Her symptoms?” The old woman asks.

“Pain around the hips and back, nausea, weariness.” He says. Since the dam is broken, Sophie seems more than glad to express how particularly awful her cycle is in short terse terms. “We will be travelling further south, no idea when we will be able to find another apothecary.”

The woman nods, turns to the shelves behind her, humming as she plucked jars from their places. Fenris does his best to wait unobtrusively as possible, watching Sophie out the corner of his eye. She still needs to mouth the words as she reads trade, finely arched brows furrowed, fingers tapping the edge of the shelf. To be so embarrassed over a natural thing, it makes him sad for her.

Sophie plucks a canister of tea from the shelf and sniffs, a soft joy coming to her face. She turns to find him and waggles the tea at him.

“Come smell this!” She says and he obliges. The tea is dark, bright with the scent of lemons and other subtle florals, lacking the spice he’s so used to. “What do you think?”

“It’s quite pleasant.” Fenris says, “Would you like some?” He asks and Sophie smiles.

“Yes.” She smells the tea again. “I have some spare coin from Sebastian. I should pay for everything else too-” She cuts off as Fenris plucks the canister from her fingers.

“Consider it a gift to ease your ailment.” He says, heading back to the counter. The old woman gives him a knowing smile that sends a flush of heat to the tips of his eyes as he pays.

“No more than five cups a day,” She cautions him. “Steep for a short time, drink. Honey will sweeten the taste.” She lifts the small bag of herbs away from his fingers, dark eyes glinting with her smile. “It is not a preventative.” She says softly. Fenris scowls, taking the bag and the bundle of linen strips, setting a few coins on the counter in payment. He gestures to Sophie to turn so he can add them to her bag and leads her out of the store, ignoring the soft laugh of the old woman behind them. Sophie does not ask, and for that, Fenris is grateful.

Outside the sun is a little higher, a little warmer, and he wants to bask in it as they move around the market, eventually finding heavy woollen trousers and a thick tunic he can fit his armour on top of, all in simple shakes or greys and green. It’s the subject of boots that make him falter. The last vicious Kirkwall winter had him in leather boots that pinched his feet, left blisters on the tendon above his heel. He has no desire to repeat that experience.

“If Haven is high in the mountains and we’re going _that_ far south,” Sophie swings her hand vaguely to the south. “It’s going to get cold as fuck. That means frost. And snow. How the heck are you going to stop your toes from freezing off?” Her hand now flaps at his bare feet, already a little chilled in the cool morning air.

“I have endured winters in Kirkwall,” Fenris retorts, ignoring Sophie’s inelegant snort. “Without need for shoes.”

“How much does it snow in Kirkwall?” She demands, setting her hands on her broad hips, looking like a stern mother staring down a stubborn child. Were it not so endearing, Fenris would bristle.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Little. Sleet mostly.”

Sophie’s expression softens. “Don’t like boots?”

“I don’t find a need for them usually.” Fenris says, measuring one against his foot. The bottom of his feet bore heavy calluses, skin thickened over years. But the cold of Kirkwall’s frost and sleet hurt. Made it hard to move and keep his footing. _Kaffas_. “Very well.” He grabs a pair and sits on a provided stool, pulling the laces undone. He’s about to stick his foot inside when Sophie squeaks.

“Um… hi, Fenris, uh,” she waves two of the odd woolen things at him. Like mits.

“Yes, you made those.” Fenris says.

“Yes. They’re for you. Your feet are just a little longer than mine so they should fit.”

Fenris blinks. Socks. She made him socks. With wool and a bone needle. “Oh.” As the tips of his ears start to burn anew, he glowers at her. “I’ve worn socks.”

“Do you have any now?” Sophie asks. Fenris looks pointedly at his bare feet, taking the socks and pulling them on. The wool is soft, pliant, and gives a little around his foot. He hadn’t asked what she was making, hadn’t wanted to intrude upon her focus as she passed the needle through loops of wool. That she could be making something for him never occurred. A lump forms in Fenris’ throat. “It is very thoughtful.” He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want her to see the emotions etched over his face.

“It’s okay.” Sophie’s voice is gentle. “I figured they’d be useful.”

The socks help, and Sophie is so pleased, Fenris forgets to feel any embarrassment for his mistake.

They replenish their supplies before leading Jader by the eastern gate, fresh elfroot salves and a few precious potions in their packs. The noonday sun warms Fenris’ skin as they walk alongside a Ferelden trader and his cart. Despite the icy wind and sparse trees, it’s pleasant, the air clean of the usual city stink, stretching out his limbs on the road. The boots on his feet don’t pinch, though his gait shifts, his grip in the earth diminished. It’ll take some time to adapt, hopefully before they reach the Frostbacks, but at least there’s no mud between his toes.

Sophie trudges along beside him, only a faint crinkle in her brow giving away the pain. He keeps an eye on her as they follow the old imperial highway, passing rolling fields bare of crops, ambling flocks of sheep dotting the fields of old grass. Evening brings with it a harsher wind that cuts through the sparse forest around the, and the pair leave the road to find a place to camp. Fenris picks out a small clearing backed against a wall of smooth granite, frowning at Sophie’s groan of pained relief as she drops her pack and cloak on a flat rock.

“You know,” She pants, stretching her arms over her head. “Killing me might just be a mercy.” Fenris doesn’t look at the arch of her body, for long at least, dropping his own pack by hers. A fire needs building, the ground cleared for their tent, water boiled for cooking and Sophie’s tea. She bends, gathering sticks and brush, collecting everything into a neat pile, and wincing every time she straightens. She flashes Fenris a grateful smile when he stoops to help.

They have a fine pile to pick through when the sound of footsteps reach his ears. Voices cast low, leaves crunching. Fenris taps Sophie on the shoulder, glancing pointedly at her bow and rises, pulling his sword from his back. He turns to face the approaching men, spotting them through the underbrush. Lightly armoured, weapons drawn. Sophie’s back bumps against his, sucking in a trembling breath as more steps approach from behind. They’re outnumbered, surrounded, weary and Sophie in pain. These are not good odds.

The leader of the band taps the back of his hand axe against his shoulder, mouth stretching into an unfriendly smile.

“Well, this is lucky. An elf, a woman, all on their own.” He rakes his gaze over Fenris, and smirks. Fenris bristles, brands itching. The other bandits laugh, following their leader into the clearing. Fenris cranes his head. There’s eight in all. Too many perhaps. _Vishante kaffas_. He adjusts his grip on his sword, steadies his stance, ready to move. This will be a fight, the men around them visibly planning on how to split the spoils, leering gazes on the woman at his back. One of them pulls a coil of rope from his hip.

“Fen?” Sophie’s voice is low, wavering. There’s nowhere she can run, no easy way to keep her from their grip. She’s never killed. Maker help them.

“Don’t let them take hold of you, do not hesitate and show no mercy.” Fenris leans back, bumping his shoulders against hers, the only reassurance he can give. “They have none for us.” And if either of them falters… No. He won’t allow it.

“Oh, we have mercy,” A bandit calls, lazily picking at the edge of his sword. “Just put down your weapons and cooperate. We’ll even drop you off at the nearest town once we’re done.” The rest of them laugh, confident, careless. They have every reason to think they’ve cornered easy prey, outnumbering the pair four to one. It’s an advantage Fenris is willing to use.

“It’s us or them, right?” Sophie asks. He knows what she’s asking.

“Yes.” Fenris answers.

“No mercy.” She bumps him back and he meets the leader’s gaze with a smirk.

“You chose poorly.” Fenris says and brings his brands to life. The pain of it carries him forward, heavy blade swinging, Sophie’s battle-cry ringing after him. The bandits shout, scatter, but too slow. He catches one in the gut, sword cutting through leather and chain, drawing no blood but winding the man.

“Kill him!” The leader cries, scrambling out of reach. “Kill the elf!” Coward. Another yells, swinging a great axe and Fenris dives underneath striking the man's knee with the pommel of his sword. The joint cracks and he falls, howling. Fenris pivots, spins and takes off his head in a smooth satisfying stroke. Seven. Another comes, throwing a weight loop of rope. Fenris side steps, brands humming hot and bright and he steps, riding the lyrium to the man's back. He swings, clips the man on the shoulder, blood spraying. Fenris punches his fist through his spine, jerks it away roughly and he gurgles as he falls. Six. He glances, searching for Sophie. A man lies writhing on the earth, clutching at an arrow sticking from his neck. Five. The woman herself dodged and weaved, darting circles around her enemies, losing arrows until one gets too close and she casts the bow aside. Out comes a dagger, flashing in the low light. Sophie catches the bandits arm, ramming her hand into his elbow. The join pops and the man shrieks and Sophie rams the hilt of her dagger into his temple, darting out of reach of her pursuers.

Their gaze meet across the clearing. Her eyes widen.

“Fenris!” She shouts and Fenris throws himself into a roll, the bandit leader’s axe humming uselessly through the air. Foolish. Fenris scrambles away from the man, dodging another sword. Five. Right. The man he winded stumbles after him, blood dribbling from his mouth. He’s too slow to dodge Fenris’ blade, point piercing the weakened armour with ease. Four. He shoves the man back, taking his head from his shoulders, when a furious shriek fills the air.

One of the bandits hoists Sophie up, throwing her to the ground. She lands hard, feet kicking as another grabs her hands. No! Heart in his throat, Fenris starts towards them, a flicker of movement the only warning he got. A rope loops around his neck and pulls hard, jerking him off balance. Grabbing the length, Fenris glares at the fool holding the other end, rage burning under his skin. His markings flare, prickling over his skin as he phases through it, blade flashing as he charges forward. Sophie needs him. He hears her crying out, the sound digging at him. He said he would protect her. Fenris drives his blade through the bandit’s middle and pivots, pulling the blade free, spilling his intestines onto the clearing floor.

“Sophie!” He runs, ducking around the bandit leader. There was a man on top of her, pulling at her clothes. Sophie kicks, pulling, teeth bared.

“Get the fuck off of me!” she screams and fire envelopes the man on top of her. Fenris skids to a stop, staring in macabre fascination as the two men fall away from her, one howling as hot flame consumes his flesh, burning hair and leather and skin. Between them, Sophie gawks, big grey eyes like iron saucers, clutching the earth beneath her, blood dribbling from her nose. Magic. She has _magic?_

A man tackles Fenris, sending him crashing into the earth. The scent of rich, damp soil replaces the stink of burning skin. It brings him back to focus, and Fenris twists, getting his hands beneath him, shoving off the bandit on top of him. Shoving his fist through the man’s chest, Fenris rises, reclaiming his sword. The burning man (three) no longer screams. The leader gurgles his last, heart crushed. All that remains was the last, staring at Sophie in absolute terror, a dark stain growing on the front of his trousers.

“We d-d-didn’t- we…” He clutches a sword, tightens his grip. “You killed my brother, you bitch!” He lifts his arms to swing. Fenris moves forward, carried by his lyrium and ends the man’s life, letting his body drop to the ground.

The clearing falls quiet, his heart pounding in his ears, the crackling of flame and Sophie’s gasping sobs.

Magic. Fenris turns to look at her. She hasn’t moved, chest heaving as she watches the body burn. She’s a mage. Fenris’ heart aches. _Oh Sophie._ But they can’t stay. There’s no time.

“Forgive me.” Fenris says with a sigh, crouching beside her. “Sophie? We can’t stay here.” Her breath catches in her chest, her wet eyes not leaving the burning body.

“I….I….” She licks her lips. “I didn’t mean to…” She sounds so small and afraid that Fenris’ stomach twists.

“I know.” Tentatively, Fenris touches bloodied fingers to her shoulder. “I know. We need to go. Now.”

He collects their things, scooping up Sophie’s bow and her arrows and wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. She trembles, crying, staring at the slain bandits around them. One was young, face scarred by violence, pale green eyes open to the sky. “They were foolish,” Fenris says, putting her bow into her hand, tucking her arrows into a side pocket on her bag. “Choosing a life treating others as prey.” Next, he plucks up her daggers and steps in front of her, bending to look into her eyes.. “Sophie?”

She starts, blinking. “Yeah?”

“We need to go.”

“Okay.”

They cut through the forest, using stones to step over a shallow creek in the fading light, the sound of thunder rumbling overhead. As the sun starts to sink down, they break into an overgrown field watched over by a neglected watermill with a broken wheel. In the distance, dots or torchlight reveal the next town. A risk. An elven man and a shaken woman would catch too much attention in such a small place. Best to avoid. Instead, Fenris leads Sophie to the mill, breaking open the door with a hard pull. Inside it’s dry and still, only the rustling of mice skittering out of sight. Above them, light flickers and a crack of thunder breaks, ozone filling the air.

“This will do.” Fenris says, tugging Sophie in. Packs down by the door, he sets about cleaning a space for their rest and a little fire. The soft wind that creeps through gaps in the old stone is bitterly cold, likely to get worse as the rain pours down. Sophie pulls something from her bag, a dark tube of metal that clicks and spills out bright light and holds it to him. “Thank you.” Fenris says, and hangs it above them. “There’s some wood here that might do,” He says, gathering pieces from shattered chairs and long dry barrels into a pile. “The stream beside us should have clean enough water.” Fenris looks up. Sophie lingers in the doorway, staring at the quiet river beside the mill. “Sophie?”

“I need to wash it off.” She says.

“Sorry?”

Sophie holds up her hands, blood dried on her palms, splattered over her face. He hadn’t noticed.

“It’ll be cold.” Fenris stands, stepping around the pile. There’s blood on him, his gauntlets. And she… “It’ll get colder. We should do it now.”

Sophie’s look of grateful relief warms him, keeps him warm as they step back into the wind. The shadows grow, heavy clouds stretching across the sky. Sophie steps onto the stone docks, descending down to the lower platform and shrugs off her armoured coat. Her boots follow, then her socks, and Fenris frowns as he joins her.

“What are you-” He starts, only to be cut off but a distant rumble.

Sophie flings off her tunic, loosens the ties of her trousers, and lets them drop. Her arms cover her middle, as if trying to hide her soft belly as she stares into the water. She sighs. “Fuck it.” And leaps into the water.

Fenris starts, ducking away from the splash. “Sophie!” The dark water shows no sign of her, small drops of rain disturbing the surface. He starts pulling at his coat. “Sophie!”

Her head breaks the water and above them the sky opens, lightning flashing as it strikes the woods, thunder beating against Fenris like a drum. The rain follows, crashing down like a wave and it’s a relief, the tension in the air breaking, giving way to the storm above them.

He wants to laugh, enjoy the rain, the clean sweetness of the air. Were it Kirkwall he’d linger despite the cold seeping through his skin. In the water, Sophie swims, treads water with her face turned to the sky, the white ghost of a happier time barely visible in the dark water. He shouldn’t be looking, lingering on the soft form. Flushing with shame, Fenris turns away, unbuckling his gauntlets to wash the blood from his hands. He listens instead, to the pouring rain and thunder, to the splash of Sophie climbing out of the water. He only looks up when her fingers brush against his shoulder, the woman wrapped in her cloak. She gives him a soft smile, and the warmth returns. He forces himself to look away and stands.

“Done playing?” Fenris asks, picking up his armour and heading up the stairs. No. Now is not the time. He needs to start the fire, clean his weapons. Not stare at a woman that had just been attacked. And… He shakes his head as he slips back into the mill, using a spare tunic to dab off the worst of the rain before bending to build the fire. His hands shake. It’s the cold, he tells himself. His hands are simply cold.

“I needed that.” Sophie’s voice is quiet, but steady. Fenris doesn’t need to look to know she was drying off, dressing, the rustle of fabric pulling at his attention.

Pulling in a slow breath, he strikes flint against steel, gently blowing against the spark to build a small flame. It takes, thank the Maker, and he sets it on fire, slowly adding splinters and wood fragments until it burns cheerily on it’s own. It’s then he lets himself look, finding Sophie huddled in her odd ‘hoodie’ her unstrung bow in her lap.

“Is it alright?” Fenris asks, nodding at the weapon. His own leans against the old grindstone, still dark with blood.

Sophie nods, running her fingers over the shaped wood, horn and sinew. “Yeah. Just need to keep it dry.” She says, setting it into it’s back and zipping it up. She makes an odd sound that becomes a discordant laugh.

“What?” He asks.

“You chose poorly.” Sophie affects a scowl, mimicking his voice rather poorly before giggling again.

“Yes?” Fenris dumps the branches into the pile and starts arranging them.

“Sorry it’s just…” Sophie’s shoulders shake. “ ‘You chose poorly’, it’s a line from an old movie and I…” Another laugh bubbles up her throat. “I never expected to hear it from a dude tearing someone’s heart out. That’s pretty badass by the way, the whole,” She mimes ramming her fist forward, jerking it back, fingers curled into claws. “That’s cool. Terrifying and badass. I would’ve run. Fuck trying to kick your ass,” Sophie says, voice low by gaining speed, the humourless smile on her face stretching to a mockery of warmth. She rocks a little, curling her arms around her legs and Fenris abandons the fire, walking to Sophie’s side.

“Sophie,” He doesn’t reach for her hands on her knees, knuckles white as she twists her fingers together, as much as he wants to. “Please look at me.” She shakes her head.

“No, I…I can’t. Too much information.” She waves a hand before her eyes. “Too much. Too loud.” Blindly her hand reaches, finds his and grips tight. “I killed someone.” Sophie says as simply as she’d say it was sunny.

“Yes,” Fenris puts his hand over hers. “They would have killed us, after hurting us a great deal.”

“Rape, beatings, that kind of fun shit.” She says, fingers tightening around his. He wants to lie. He can’t, not if the harsh truth will help her survive.

“Yes. Both of us.” Fenris says and Sophie’s face pulls into a dark scowl.

“Pieces of shit.” She hisses.

“Yes.” Fenris strokes his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin is soft, warm, fingers calloused and strong. They’re good hands, expressive when she speaks, gentle when she touches, and now, when he touches them, he feels a lingering hum of magic. How did he miss it before?

“I set a man on fire.” Sophie’s breath hitches. “I felt it, angry heat, focused, flowing out of my hands. I’ve never… I’ve heard about chi, energy moving through a person’s body but… Fuck.” Puzzling over the odd word, Fenris sighs and sits beside her.

“I saw.” He lets out a slow breath. “I feared the worst when I heard you scream. You did well,” Fenris says, studying her face in the warm light. Her cheeks are wet, tears trailing down her face. “You did not falter, you did not freeze. You fought. No one could ask more of you.”

Sophie sniffs, biting her lip. “I don’t feel like it. I feel like I failed.”

“No. You survived.” Fenris says, squeezing her fingers. “That is an impressive victory in my eyes.”

Sophie scoffs. “You’re flattering me.”

“If that is flattery, then you have been bereft.” He says, seeking her gaze. “It is a simple observation, that your skill with a bow serves you well, makes you a dangerous opponent, all the while afraid. That you still try to find moments of joy in all this is something I have come to greatly admire.”

“And here I thought that was just annoying.” Sophie replies.

Fenris smiles at her. “Hardly. I…” He swallows the lump forming in his throat. “I enjoy your company.”

Sophie bumps her shoulder against his. “Ditto. Sweet talker.” She says and Fenris smiles, something heady and pleased swelling in his chest.

“Out of practice I’m afraid.” He says and Sophie scoffs, pulling her hand free of his to bat at him. He dodges, chuckling. “Perhaps I should try to improve?” Fenris stands and returns to the fire, adding a little more wood to the growing blaze.

“If you want a blushing mess, sure.” Sophie drawls. She digs into her bag, pulling free a small tin of tea, and a little pot to boil the water.

“Could be an appealing look.” Fenris says, and reprimands himself. He shouldn’t. Sophie scowls, tossing the tea at him.

“Rude.” She says. “I’ll get some water. I’ll be back.”

While the water heats, Fenris tends to his armour, picking dried blood from the joints. Across the fire, Sophie stares into the flame, rolling her arrows between her fingers.

“Fen?”

Fenris pauses, arching a brow at the nickname. “Yes?”

“Do you-” Sophie spins the arrow. “Do you know how I… did the fire thing?”

Worrying the inside of his cheek, Fenris dabs oil onto a cloth. “No,” He says eventually. “Not entirely. Only that it was magic.” He works the oil over the metal plates of his gauntlets. “I felt it when I touched your hand.”

“You felt it?” Sophie asks and Fenris lifts his hand to show the lyrium on his palm.

“These marks are made from lyrium.” He says. “A mage uses potions crafted from the substance to fuel their magic. When they gather their power, if I am close enough, it pulls at them.”

“And that makes me…” Sophie pulls her knees to her chest. “A mage?”

“I don’t know.” Fenris watches her face go blank, Sophie retreating inwards. “But if it does, I know at least one mage that can help you learn to control it.”

“Hawke, yeah?” Sophie asks and Fenris nods, setting his oiled gauntlets aside.

“Though,” Fenris scoops some boiling water into a tin mug, sprinkling in the tea for Sophie’s ailment. “I am told typically one's discovery of magic occurs a little more…” He hums. “Early.”

“When they’re a kid?” Sophie takes the cup, nose wrinkling.

“Usually, yes.” Fenris says. In the water pot, he adds the other tea, the one he bought for her, the fresh smell soothing. Silence falls. They eat some of their rations, dried meat, apples Sophie slices for them both in between sips of the cycle tea. He can’t help but pity her. Thedas is harsh enough for a woman on her own. Now with magic, she’s an apostate. For all her delight in learning, he can’t see her accepting her place in a circle with anything but furious resignation and despair. He prods at that thought, losing himself in the process of caring for his weapon. Sophie finishes her mug of tea, pushing the rest to him with a soft ‘goodnight’ before crawling into her bedroll, and Fenris remains awake to watch the fire burn.

◆

The morning is cold and dreary. Sophie’s head _aches_ something fierce and her cramps are now in full swing. For once she beats Fenris to rise and takes the chance to do her thing with all the privacy an abandoned field affords.

Fenris is awake, prodding at the coals of the night’s fire for a little more warmth, scowling eyes just visible over the wool cloak wrapped around him.

“Morning.” Sophie says. Fenris grunts, shuffling aside to make room for her and she sits, warming her chilled hands.

“There’s a town nearby,” he says, passing her a cup, a faintly aniseed scent wafting from the liquid within. Ugh. “We make for it to check our progress, reorient and continue.” He sighs. “Perhaps find a group to travel with.”

She sips the tea, wincing at the bitter taste. “Ick, people.”

Fenris huffs a little laugh. “Agreed. But it may be safer.”

“And the whole magic situation?” Sophie asks. He hums, rubbing his chin.

“So long as your emotions are in check, I believe you will be safe for the moment.”

It takes another day of walking before they find a road that leads towards a town. Sophie hurts all the while, the cramping digging its claws into her back, her shoulders aching from the weight of her pack, her feet. Gods, her fucking feet. Despite the pace they make, Sophie suspects Fenris is going easy on her. He says nothing about it, but there’s a change in the way he looks at her, one she has no chance of interpreting on her own. It makes her feel sick, on top of everything else.

She took life. Swiftly, brutally, loosing an arrow into one man, setting fire to the other. The screams still echo in her head, the smell. She’ll never forget that smell. It sinks into her like a lead weight that drags her feet over the landscape. As necessary as it was, those men and their eyes picking her apart, she still feels the foreign rush in her body, her hands, flowing out of her like water.

How the _fuck_ did she do that?

In the evening, they make camp, huddling together for warmth in their small tent. Fenris tells her stories of Hawke and her friends, of times they were stuck outside the city on the Wounded Coast, Varric complaining without end. Sophie tells him of camping with her living history group, the scattered panic when a bush-pig crashed through the camp, disrupting a drunken game involving blindfolds and a little chest.

As a distraction, it doesn’t last. As soon as Fenris turns over to sleep, Sophie’s mind starts to swirl. Magic. A mage. She can’t help but think of Theus and his knife, Laurelia and the blinding storm she conjured in Sophie’s head.

Sitting by a well in the town’s small square, Sophie rubs her fingers over her scalp. Gods help her she is so tired. Every hill she climbs, another problem shoves itself into her face, another puzzle to solve, another fucking reminder that this is not home, it is not her place and she does not belong here. And what if she can’t get home? Thinking like that won’t help, she knows but what if? Sebastian’s offer to remain his guest until she can carve a place for herself rises in her mind, but it rubs raw at a festering wound. Like it or not, she’s next to helpless on her own. Like… She hides her face in her hands, breathes until the memories go away. No. Not helpless, just in need of help. Lost.

Combing her fingers through her hair, Sophie composes her face and sits up. Just get through this and get answers. There could be a way home and if not, she’ll adapt. Survive. She’s managed that so far. Rolling her shoulders, she scans the busy market around her, eyeing the Chantry sisters in white and red, reciting scripture in front of the stone and slate chantry. Out of the crowd, Fenris appears beside an elder human man in shining armour, a flaming sword emblazoned on his chest plate. Templars. Sophie’s belly gives a lurch. They were the military arm of the Chantry, protecting people from dangers, like demons, spirits… And dangerous apostates. Or they did.

Gossip in the market painted an unfriendly picture in greater Thedas, mages abandoning their circles, Templars their stations. The fighting tore across the countryside, forcing people to run or risk getting caught in the crossfire. And then there were the rifts, the green tears in the air that deposited demons into the world. Some hoped the Inquisition could help, others blamed them for letting the chaos spread.

Fenris and the templar draws close and Sophie stands to meet them. The elder templar looks her over with soft brown eyes in a scarred face, shiny scars dotting his left cheek bisecting one bushy brow. Sunlight lightens dull grey still flecked with stubborn strands of black and he nears, she spots a faint limp in his stride. Sophie looks at Fenris and he gives her a barely there smile.

“This is my companion, Sophie.” He says, standing beside her. The templar nods, and bends into a shallow bow, armoured hand tapping his chest.

“A pleasure. I am Knight Captain Bryson.” His voice is warm, accent familiar, like South London with a dash of something further north. Bryson straightens. “Your man tells me you are pilgrims seeking the way to Haven?”

“We are,” Sophie answers, glancing at Fenris, who stands calmly, watching the market around them. Ah. The old body guard and noble play. Wunderbar. “Are you heading that way yourself, ser?” She asks. Ser Bryson’s eyes smile, the bland mask over the rest of his features never shifting.

“Indeed I am. Myself and two of my people will be escorting a group south to join the Inquisition.” He nods his head to a group gathering on the road before the chantry, two heavy carts loaded with supplies hitched to horned beasts Fenris called druffalos with massive heads and intimidating horns. Others waited, two more templars, a wealthy looking woman with a slender elf beside her, and the two men and a dwarf woman organising the carts. Not bad numbers. Bryson turned back to Sophie and Fenris. “The two of you are welcome to join us. Your man has told me of the trouble you faced. Bandits.” Bryson frowns. “It’s a blessing you survived.”

“Yes, thank the g-” Fenris’ foot kicks hers and Sophie clears her throat. “Thank the Maker for that.” Bryon bends into another short bow.

“Replenish your supplies. We leave in fifteen minutes.” He gives Fenris a short nod before turning away, striking straight backed and tall through the crowd. Sophie keeps the polite smile on her face as she pivots to Fenris.

“Dude, what the fuck?” She asks under her breath and infuriatingly, he just shrugs.

“What better way to Haven than with a protected group?” He says. “One of their number is a friend, of sorts.”

“Isn’t there a problem with my maybe being, you know, possibly a mage?” Sophie snaps quietly as she can.

“We don’t know that,” Fenris steps in front of her blocking her from the Templar’s view. “If you use…” He inhales sharply through his nose, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “If you use magic, they will know, yes, but it has taken weeks for any sign of it to show.” He gestures with his hands, gauntlets flashing in the noonday sun. “At worst, we will explain that you seek to help the Inquisition as they do. But they will not harm you, I swear it.”

Anger prickles over Sophie’s skin. “And you know that how?” She asks, and Fenris leans towards her, green eyes focused on hers.

“Because I will not let them.” He says. It sounds like an oath and all at once, Sophie finds herself breathless. Fenris’ gaze searches her face, before dropping, almost shy. “Trust me.” He asks, glancing through the white hair falling over his brow. Sophie licks her lips, a confused spiral of emotions clashing in her head. He’s kept her safe so far, comforted, helped. He’s her friend, at least Sophie thinks of him as one, having long earned her trust. She can’t let a new fear blind her to the man that’s gone so far for a person he barely knows. Fenris deserves better.

Sophie nods. “I… I do. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you.” She says, and Fenris’ shoulders ease.

“You have every reason to be cautious.” He replies.

“Not with you.” Sophie says and he looks up, surprise parting his lips. “I trust you. C’mon, by now I’d be an idiot not to.” The expression on his face softens, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“I would not say that.” Fenris glances at the group preparing to leave. “Same as Cumberland. You are a Merchant’s daughter, desiring to help the Inquisition.”

“As what? An amateur artist?” Sophie asks. He smirks.

“A chronicler perhaps.” Fenris says. “Come, they’re leaving soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: This fic is over 50k words now. O.O


	9. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris’ friend turns out to be a dark-haired, blue-eyed, brick-house on legs, templar plate gleaming in the sun as he gives them a once over with critical eyes before smiling and shaking his head.
> 
> “You two look like nugshit.” He says with a laugh. “What the blazes are you doing here, Fenris?”
> 
> Fenris sighs, glancing at Sophie. “That is a very long story.”
> 
> “Understatement.” Sophie mutters, setting her canvas wrapped backpack into the horse-cart. She nods her chin at the templar. “Sophie Adler.”
> 
> “Carver Hawke.” He says with a humourless smile, offering a hand. His gloved and armoured fingers are gentle around hers and quick to pull away. “Thought you were hunting slavers, Fenris. Didn’t take you for the pilgrimage type.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always love and adoration for my beta and the folks at [The Hanged Man](https://discord.gg/9RERC6R)  
> You can find me there and on tumblr at [ Weird-In-Thedas](https://weird-in-thedas.tumblr.com/)

Chapter 9

Fenris’ friend turns out to be a dark-haired, blue-eyed, brick-house on legs, templar plate gleaming in the sun as he gives them a once over with critical eyes before smiling and shaking his head.

“You two look like nugshit.” He says with a laugh. “What the blazes are you doing here, Fenris?”

Fenris sighs, glancing at Sophie. “That is a very long story.”

“Understatement.” Sophie mutters, setting her canvas wrapped backpack into the horse-cart. She nods her chin at the templar. “Sophie Adler.”

“Carver Hawke.” He says with a humourless smile, offering a hand. His gloved and armoured fingers are gentle around hers and quick to pull away. “Thought you were hunting slavers, Fenris. Didn’t take you for the pilgrimage type.”

“I am not.” Fenris says, gaze on the others preparing to leave. It’s a decently sized group, a dwarf trader with two loaded carts hitched to horned beasts like an oversized cross between buffalo and something from freaking _Star Wars_. Two young men handle their reins and beyond them were two women, a sumptuously dressed blonde beside a delicately built companion. Another elf, Sophie guesses.

The silence draws her attention back to the two men, the corners of Fenris’ eyes crinkling as he studies her. “Did I miss something?”

Fenris smiles, shaking his head for a moment before glancing at a frowning Carver. “We seek Haven for another reason. Sophie is…”

“Not from around here.” She finishes off and gives Carver a beaming smile. “So, templar, huh?”

Carver blinks, visibly surprised. He smiles back, ears gaining a ruddy tinge. “UH, yes. I am. Where exactly are you from?” He lifts his brows, looking at Fenris, who sighs.

“Sophie is…” He casts his voice low. “From a rift.”

Carver’s eyes widen, face going pale. He looks between the pair.

“She’s a… A…” His arms flop to his sides, staring at Sophie. “Maker’s breath. I thought they all died.” Sophie winces. Ah. Yes. Of course. Others like her and most of them… She turns away, chest tight. Breathe.

Fenris’ boots crunch on the ground as he shifts closer. “Sophie?” She rubs at her eyes. Get it together.

“You’ve seen others?” She asks, turning back to the younger Hawke. He winces, and nods.

“A few. None… survived.” He squares his shoulders, looking as sorry as he sounds. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news to give.”

She shakes her head. “Not your fault.” Sophie clears her throat. “So, Haven?”

The two men regard her for a long moment before Carver huffs a sigh. “Haven. We should be leaving in a moment.” He musters a weak smile. “It should be safer with us, Sophie.” Carver inclines his head in a shallow bow and turns away, marching to join Bryson at the gates leading South.

Sophie rubs the back of her neck, glancing at Fenris.

“We can trust him?”

His lips quirk. “Carver is many things. Often an ass.” He says, adding his back to the cart. “But he has great integrity. He will tell no one.”

Bryson leads them South, marching on foot, while others in the group ride on horse or cart. Sophie falls into step by one of the younger templars, still round cheeked with youth despite the stubble along his jaw. Tegwyn, he introduces with a soft bow of his head, dark brown skin a dark gold in the sun, speaking to Sophie and Fenris with a soft voice, reassuring her that Haven won’t be a hard journey. He blushes, skin darkening around his ears when Sophie asks where he’s from and he tells her of a little village somewhere to the west in Orlais. When he asks, she tells him of the places she’s been, Kirkwall, Cumberland… The day moves on and in the evening as they take camp in the courtyard of a small Abbey, Sisters of the cloth bringing them fresh bread and vegetables from their gardens.

Sophie finds herself eating beside the wealthy blonde woman in fine clothes made for travel and style, tall brown leather boots, deep blue leggings and a crisp white tunic decked with a ruffled front. Very gothic heroine, down to the perfectly pale skin and long wavy hair the colour of flax. Lady Meryne Basile of Val Royeaux, a diplomat to be of the Inquisition.

“Father wishes me to have no part in it,” She says seriously over a cup of tea her elf maid brewed, a shy quiet thing in shades of dull blue named Dahlia. She smiled shyly when Sophie thanked her, glancing shyly at Fenris watching from across the fire. Meryne didn’t bat an eye. “But the opportunity could not be ignored, don’t you think?”

“Well, it is dangerous.” Sophie says, turning her own mug around in her hand. The talk of family and home sits uncomfortably in her gut and she wishes that she’d taken the chance to hide in her tent and catch up on sleep. “Fathers worry.” Hers would be beside himself… were he- _Stop it!_

“They do.” Meryne says gently with a smile. “Even so, now is the chance to make marks, to be a part of something much bigger than ourselves.” She leans forward, lips forming a conspiratorial smile. “Why else would you be here, yourself, Sophie?”

“To help.” Sophie answers and takes a sip of tea.

The next day, Meryne seems to have decided to befriend Sophie, forgoing riding on horseback to walk beside her. Sophie half listens to Meryne’s regaling of international relations, the intricacies of dealing with Antivan merchants, the ritual and formality of Nevarran Mortalitasi. It’s easy to keep her talking, Sophie finds. Just ask questions, about her home, her family, Val Royeaux.

“One day I think you should visit,” Meryne purrs, looping her arm through Sophie’s. “I would be delighted to show you the markets, the libraries. You have such an eye, I can see it.” She pats Sophie’s hand, beaming at her. “We could spend a whole day in a single gallery.”

“Maybe.” Sophie says and Meryne squeezes her hand.

“You must, I insist. Bring your man with you.” She says, gaze trailing over to Fenris and lingering on the slope of his shoulders. Sophie fights back a frown, looking away. Meryne hums. “He is so very handsome, Sophie. So lucky to have such a lovely fellow to guard you, hmm?”

Sophie’s stomach recoils. Fenris is lovely, Sophie can’t deny it. To her embarrassment, he fills the pages of her sketchbooks, sometimes as a figure in the landscape she gets down in pencil, sometimes a face amongst others. What was a small tug of attraction had grown, is growing the more time she spends with him, unlocking a playful streak that teases her, and a gentleness when she feels she might break. ‘Because I will not let them’ he said and Sophie’s heart skips just thinking about it. Fenris feels safe in a way no other man has ever felt, though undoubtedly more dangerous. Catching the way he moves on paper, swinging his great-sword like something so much smaller, is a challenge Sophie is glad to obsess over. Now, white hair glowing in the sunlight, his distinctive profile coming into view as he turns, scanning the horizon, the strong nose, hooded eyes… Sophie can’t help but admire him. And yet, Meryne’s words, after Gaston’s leering, it rings a little wrong.

Sophie licks her lips, pulling her gaze away from the elven man. “He is, but I don’t like to think of him as just a bodyguard.” She says with a sigh. Meryne chuckles.

“No, of course. Nor I with Dahlia.” She says. “I think of her as a friend. She’s so very dear to me, I could never see her as just a maid.” Sophie bites her tongue. Be nice, don’t cause a scene. Don’t piss off the nice woman trying to be your friend. Sophie doesn’t doubt the woman thinks of Dahlia as a friend, but with the way she sees elves treated, secondary, lesser, underfoot, Sophie’s left unsettled.

She’s lucky, she knows it, looking like the upper class of the world, educated, able to play the noble with little work. She’s always been privileged that way back home, despite the other “undesirable attributes”, her bisexuality and autism. Fenris, however, for all his intelligence, the languages he speaks, the self awareness he carries, would never be seen as equal. It’s bullshit. It was bullshit on Earth, and it’s bullshit here.

Her mood soured, Sophie spends the rest of the day walking beside Fenris, turning in as soon as she can get the chance to crawl into their tent. He joins her not soon after, a worried frown furrowing his brows.

“Are you alright?” He asks in that ever patient voice, settling his long slender legs to take off his boots.

“Fi-.” Sophie cuts off with a sigh. “Annoyed.” She says quietly.

“Hmph, obviously.” He dumps his boots by hers and changes his socks to the ones she made. “The question is why?” Fenris leans on one arm, looking over her with those lovely eyes. She really likes his eyes, likes the way he looks at her, even now while he studies her face for answers.

“Something Meryne said.” Sophie says, laying back on her bedroll.

“She insulted you?”

“No.” Sophie bites her lip, staring up at the dark canvas above them. “She said something that felt a little off. Mind took it and ran. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Fenris shifts, bedroll rustling and he lays by her, almost close enough to touch. “What did she say?”

Sophie rolls onto her side, tucking her arm beneath her head. “That I was lucky to have such a handsome man to protect me.” She says, glancing at his face. His lips twitch, press into a line before pulling into a smile, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Handsome, hm?” Fenris turns her head to look at her. Sophie groans, hiding her face against her arm, cheeks burning. “You found that a problem.” Sophie thumps her head against her arm.

“No, it’s not what she said, it’s how.” She says. “Like-”

“I am something only to look at, a possession.” Fenris says softly, smile fading. “I’ve heard worse from Orlesian nobles before. You need not be upset.”

“I’m not upset, I’m annoyed that my friend is being regarded as an object.” Sophie grits through her teeth and Fenris smiles again, silently laughing. And she’s stuck her foot in it. Her cheeks burn hotter and Sophie buries her face again. Fingers press against her shoulder.

“I am touched by your concern, Sophie. I am. I have fared much worse than the admiring eyes of a woman.” Fenris gives her shoulder a little squeeze.

“Yeah, and I’m making a scene.” Sophie sighs.

“No, you show concern for my sake.” Fenris says. “I am grateful.” Sophie grunts and he chuckles, canvas rustling as he moves about. He nudges her, holding up an apple. She smiles.

“Yes, please.”

As the group travels south, the land changes, this part of Ferelden still cloaked in the last days of winter. Frost marks the ground in the morning, the cold wind cutting through every layer and yet, Sophie enjoys it. Everywhere she looks, the landscape is beautiful, barely touched, beyond small towns, the occasional farm or homestead or the ruined remains of old keeps on high hills. Foxes dart in the underbrush, red tails flicking out of sight, birds flit about overhead, showing colourful underbellies and wings.

As Bryson leads them, Sophie catches glimpse of bears fishing in a river, druffalo in a small herd trekking over a field, while Tegwyn and the other Templar, Caitlyn, share stories of their youths, shenanigans that occur when you pile a bunch of kids together in a small space. Carver peppers her with questions and stories, almost taking Sophie under his wing when Fenris was elsewhere, Meryne continues to endear herself with history lessons, Dahlia shows her what herbs to forage from the wild. Fenris plays wicked grace with Carver, the trader and her men, smirking when he wins, chuckling at stories that make half the group blush and Sophie breathless with laughter.

Sophie can almost forget this isn’t Earth. And then she looks at the stars and sees an alien sky, a turn of phrase she has to puzzle out to understand. All the while, Fenris is there, steady, enduring, answering her questions, listening to her talk about the things she misses, letting her ignore the future ahead for a little while. When they get to Haven, there’s no guarantee he’ll stay. Fenris has his own life, and he no doubt would want to get back to it once Sophie’s where she needs to be. Never mind that the thought of him going leaves a hollow in her gut.

Of all the times to develop a crush. And worse still; it has not gone unnoticed.

“It’s odd,” Carver says one evening as Sophie strikes flint to firesteel. “You and Fenris.” Brows arching, she looks at where he kneels, propping dried wood and brush together for the evening fire.

“Me and Fenris what?”

Carver huffs a little, glancing up for the elf in question who was setting up a tent. “I never knew him well, not as well as my sister, but he was always pretty… standoff-ish.”

Sophie frowns, glancing across the fire to Fenris, bent over the tent hooks staked into the ground. “He still is.” Even now he maintains a distance between everyone, a prickly air that warns ‘Do Not Touch’. And she doesn’t, even in the tight quarters of their tent, Sophie gives Fenris his space, limits touching to the brief playful bumps he seems not to mind.

Carver looks at her like she’s dribbled on herself. “Well, yes, but not with you.” Sophie fumbles with the flint, hitting her fingers and dropping the whole thing. Hissing she scowls at the templar.

“I think you need your eyes checked, mate.” She says, snatching up the flint and steel and trying again. A spark. Finally. She cubs her hands around the bundle of tinder and gently blows until a small flame flickers into life. With Carver’s help they get the little flame to grow before tucking it into the fire.

“Maybe I might,” Carver says, nudging Sophie’s arm. “But you don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re focused on something else.” Sophie’s cheeks grow hot, warmer still when Carver smirks and stands, calling out to Fenris in a cheerful voice.

“Tents done, yet?”

Fenris snorts, mutters something back and the pair laugh. Sophie sits back on her haunches, fighting down the need to look and check for herself. He looks at her? He… No. Carver’s having her on. Fenris just keeps an eye on her dumb ass, that’s all.

But the damage is done. In the evening while she adds to her journal, her face itches, though a cursory glance reveals nothing. Fenris converses with Tegwyn at the edge of the firelight, the two taking the first watch for the night. Sophie sighs, shakes her head, adding a few more words. And then the itch returns. No. She’s being ridiculous, hoping for something more where there’s none. He’s her friend, and honestly, that’s all she needs for the moment.

“The two of you are rather close,” Meryne says the next morning. One of the carts is stuck, all bodies working to lever it free, while Sophie holds the reins to one of the druffalo. Sophie tears her gaze from the ridge above them, on watch in case of a rockslide, and frowns at the Orlesian. Meryne smiles, flicking her gaze to Fenris showing no sign of staring while the young Templar beside him puffs heavy breaths.

“Friends tend to be that way.” Sophie says gently patting the nose of the druffalo beside her, the big beastie snuffling at her for treats.

“They do, yes,” Meryne says, “but,” She strokes a hand down the neck of the horse. “The two of you are,” she says something in Orlesian, syllables flowing over one another like water over river rocks. “Like the moons perhaps, circling one another, if you’ll pardon my clumsy phrase.” Sophie’s cheeks warm.

“We’re friends.” She says, and maybe if she says it enough she’ll make it so.

“Of course, my friend. But I do not blame either one of you. He is as you say, more than a guard. And you,” Meryne drapes a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, grey eyes sparkling with humour. “Are a magnificent distraction.” Sophie rolls her eyes, playfully shoving at Meryne’s shoulder, even as her blush deepens, crawling down her neck. For all her manners and piety, the woman is a flirt regardless of gender, paying enough compliments to render Tegwyn and Caitlyn pink and bashful more than once.

“Buy me dinner first.” Sophie says dryly. A shadow flicks over the ground, big and broad. She looks up, frowning at the sky. The sun is bright despite the thick fluffy clouds stirred by a cold wind sweeping down from the mountains. The druffalo beside her snorts, stamping a foot. “Did you see somethi-”

Above them comes a deafening shriek. Meryne’s horse screams, rearing on its hind legs, crashing into the druffalo by Sophie. It bellows, tearing the reins from Sophie’s grip. Voices shout, and above them, a body, big, long, wings spread wide swoops over the group, loud and close like a crashing 747 jet. Sophie’s knees buckle and she falls. A dragon. A _fucking dragon_.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, watching the beast dip a wing, pulling into a lazy turn. She should run. Dragons were dangerous right? It’s coming towards them. Run. She has to run. Strong hands grip her shoulders and pull Sophie to the ground, a body shielding hers as the dragon swoops again. Sophie thinks she screams, something definitely does. Winds like a cyclone buffet them, throwing dust and dirt, shaking the ground. The dirt and rock beneath Sophie tremor. She looks up. The dragon clutches a druffalo in it’s taloned grip, roaring down at the scrambling people beneath its wings. The dwarves trader fires something up, a flaming arrow. Oh that was a fucking mistake. The dragon dips, slamming it’s tail at the cart, shattering it and it’s contents. Fenris, where is he? Sophie struggles against the body pinning her in place. She has to find him. And Dahlia, Meryne.

Over the roar she hears her name, gauntleted hands gripping tight as the ground beneath them begins to give. He’s there, protecting her. She clutches at his arm, meeting his gaze just as the path gives way.

They fall. Tumble. Rocks and hard earth hit Sophie on all sides. She lands hard on her side and curls into a ball, arms braced over her head and keeps falling. Above, the dragon roars again, wings beating the air.

Sophie comes to a stop against a tree, a thicket of them slowing the slide of earth and rock. Gasping for breath, she claws at the rough bark and climbs, pulling herself free. Her body tells her of a thousand little hurts, her ribs flaring with every breath. Cracked ribs, she catalogues, maybe broken. Bruises everywhere, cuts on her arms, her legs. Blood on her lips. Her clothes are ruined. Her bow…Where’s her bow? She wants to lay down and just stop…

She can’t just lay there. No. She needs to find Fenris. He fell with her, losing hold as they tumbled down the slope. Sophie spits dirt from her mouth, shaking more from her hair, fighting off a wave of dizziness. She wipes at her face, wipes again, and again, blinking at the mess of earth all around her. Thank fuck her glasses were in their heavy-duty case. Blinking, she scans the dirt and rock and tree trunks. Looks higher up the slope. The dragon is gone, but there’s no sign of the group. She can’t see him. Sophie climbs a little higher, teeth gritting against the pain the flares with every movement. Please let him be alive. Please let her find him. Sophie leans out from the trunk. Nothing. Fuck. Shucking off her backpack, Sophie gets her feet beneath her and clambers up the trunk to a thick branch, crawling along to another tree that takes her weight. More rock. More dirt. No sign of Fenris’ white hair or olive skin. _Shit_.

“Fenris!” Dust in Sophie’s throat catches and she coughs, stabbing pain radiating from her side. Choking down another cough, Sophie leans out, straining her ears. No answer. “Fen!” A groan. Close. Below and to the left. “Thank you,” She breathes, scrambling back and down. Grabbing her bag, she gingerly climbs over rock and dirt until a white haired head lifts itself from the ground. Blood and dirt cake one side of his face, Fenris’ eyes unfocused as he blinks up at the sky and the sound of wings.

“So-” His voice catches and he coughs.

“I’m here! I’m coming.” Sophie skirts around the last rock. A blanket of earth covers Fenris, but he breathes, hands clumsily brushing it from his chest. Dropping her bag, she hauls rock away from him, digging him free. Pulling off her gloves, she checks for injuries, blood, anything. Her hands brush over his leg and Fenris jerks, hissing.

“Something… pierced…” He grits his teeth, flinching as Sophie gingerly clears away more dirt, revealing the wound. During his fall, Fenris must’ve collided with a tree, something hard and unyielding that punctured his outer thigh.

“Oh fuck me.” Sophie whispers. There’s no way she could safely remove it. “Something’s in your leg.” Her fingers follow the shaft a few inches to a jagged break that leaks sticky sap.

“Don’t.” Fenris’ hands grab hers, holding tight enough to hurt. “Don’t pull-”He cuts off with a pained groan.

“Not going to, Fen.” She squeezes his fingers. “But I need to clean it, wrap it.” Somewhere above them, the dragon’s roar echoes off the slopes, sending Sophie’s heart into her throat. “Fuck. We can’t stay here.”

“I…” Fenris licks his lips, pushing himself up with one hand, the other gripping Sophie still. “You should go. Find the others. I will be fine.”

“Fuck that.” Sophie pulls her bag closer, pulling at the zipper one handed until she could dig inside for her medical supplies, both newly acquired and from poor Nathan’s pack. A twinge of guilt throbs in her chest as she pulls it out to find the little bag of elfroot vials. It crunches, the fabric damp. “Oh, come on.” Pulling it open, she finds one vial still whole, the rest a sticky mess of shards. She throws the bag aside and holds the vial to Fenris. “Drink this. We can move when you’re ready.” Fenris pushes it back.

“You are hurt. Take it.” He says. Wings beat the air and they freeze, watching the dragon sweep overhead, red leathery skin gleaming in the sunlight as it heads east. Terrifying, but gods above it’s beautiful. As it shrinks, vanishing into the clouds, Sophie lets out a slow breath and looks back to Fenris.

“You have a branch sticking out of your leg, blood on your face, probably a concussion. At least.” She pops the vial’s cork and shoves it back. Fenris glares, the effect diminished by the lack of focus. “Fen, please. My ribs just need some support and the rest, we can handle when we find somewhere safe. You…” She shifts close as she dares, fingers gently brushing the white hair from his eyes. “Please, just drink the damn potion.”

Fenris’ eyes widen, frown fading. He nods, and takes the vial, downing the sticky red mixture. He grimaces as Sophie unzips her medical kit and pops a pair of painkillers from the blister pack. She swallows them dry, grabbing an elastic bandage. It’s enough for her ribs or his leg. She’s frowning, trying to force her panicked mind to think when Fenris bumps her with the vial. There was a little left, enough for a mouthful, and his now focused gaze allows no argument.

“Drink.”

Sophie takes the vial, downs it and tosses it over her shoulder, swallowing the herbal concoction. Fenris nods and leans back against a sturdy trunk, and Sophie gets to work, tending to what she can, using a crepe bandage around his leg wound to stem the trickle of blood, the broad elastic bandage around her ribs. A patch of gauze goes over the wound over Fenris’ eye, tape holding it in place. Anything else could wait. Their tent was with the group, their blankets and his pack. It’ll get cold in a few hours, colder soon once the sun starts setting. They need shelter, and quick.

Sophie twists on her feet. The steep gorge formed a little valley, everything below them thick with trees. A small animal trail was just visible leading south. That’s a start at least. If they could follow, they might find water. Get to a town, a farm. _Something_. She glances at Fenris, worry bubbling in her gut. His skin’s pale, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, green eyes staring into the distance. This is her fault.

“Think you can stand?” Sophie asks. Fenris tilts his head towards her, dark brows pulling together.

After a moment, he straightens. “I can try.”

◆

Fenris regrets standing. He regrets a lot of things; letting go of his weapon, being too slow to save Sophie and himself from the landslide.

Sophie bears his weight on her shoulder, arm around his middle to keep him upright. He grumbled at first but the further they go, the more grateful he is. The ground rocks in front of him, vision blurring if he doesn’t consciously focus his gaze. His leg aches, throbbing in time with his heart. He’s cold, everywhere Sophie isn’t touching him and it’s hard not to lean into her. She did the best she could with what they had. No fault in that. Nor for freezing in the face of a high dragon. _Vishante kaffas_. Where did that beast come from?

Fenris glances at her, her dirty face a blur, soft lips set into a determined line. They’ve walked a few hours, the sun’s position sinking towards the horizon and she hasn’t made a single sound of complaint. She shouldn’t have to carry him.

Sophie comes to a sudden stop, Fenris lurching to the side before he fits his feet again. “What?” He asks, licking his dry lips. Sophie’s gaze is locked on something ahead of them and she straightens, setting her feet. He follows her gaze along the path and settles on a tall, dark furred beast, fur dense and striped with grey bands, yellow eyes staring at them. An old collar hangs around it’s throat. He’d call it a mabari were it not for the longer snout, pointed upright ears, and slimmer build. It’s fur is longer, thicker, fluffy on the tail that sways as it regards them.

The beast blinks its eyes, snout rising to sniff the air. Fenris’ mouth goes dry. Of course when he loses his sword.

“Tell me that’s not a wolf.” Sophie murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I don’t-…” He sighs. “I can’t tell. The collar…” His mind won’t cooperate. He needs to think.

“Look for others.” Sophie says, staring down the hound, unblinking. It’s smart, and he is grateful for it. A quick scan reveals no other watchers.

“It’s alone.” He says. The hound lets out a soft sound, not a growl, not a bark. It’s tail wags and it turns darting further along the trail. It pauses by a turn, looking back. Waiting.

“Huh.” Sophie says. “Might be worth it.” She adjusts her grip on Fenris, gently easing him higher on her shoulder. “What do you think?” Fenris cranes his head to face her.

“It could belong to someone. Might be worth the risk.”

They follow the hound, the dog trotting ahead as it leads them along the winding trail. Eventually the sound of water reaches Fenris’ ears, as Sophie helps him step around a thicket of trees. A steady but thin stream of water falls from above into a little pool that spills out into a stream. Rock, smoothed by water, leads up and into a gap behind the waterfall, a cave barely visible in the fading light. The hound, however, was gone.

“That’s…” Sophie breathes. “I can’t decide if that was weird or lucky.”

“Does it matter?” Fenris says and Sophie helps him up the path, her thick soled boots steady on the slippery rocks. Behind the little fall, the cave is dry, opening into a larger room. And the old door lay broken, it’s rusted hinged having given way. Within the gloom, Fenris could pick out shapes, square and cylindrical. Something clicks, and light pours from Sophie’s torch. She scans it slowly around them. Dusty barrels and crates were stacked neatly along one wall, and an old firepit set closer to the opening. Further in, a series of stone steps carved from the rock led up to a flat ledge with an old ruined table, rotten papers and chests. Sophie’s torch settles on an old shield on a weapons rack, a pair of griffons on the front. “A grey warden cache.” Fenris peers around them. “Long abandoned or forgotten.”

“They’re the ones that fight darkspawn, right?” Sophie helps him hobble over to a crate and gently lowers him to sit. She drops her bag down by his feet. “Think anything here would still be good?”

“If we are fortunate.” Fenris says, gingerly touching the bandages wrapped around his leg. It hurt, a hot, angry ache. They couldn’t leave the branch in there or risk infection. But unless there is a healer's kit whole and usable somewhere, it would be more dangerous to try taking it out. He keeps an eye on Sophie as she lightly steps searches through the old supplies, using a rusty crowbar to pry off the tops of crates. Her nose wrinkles more than once, often followed by her slamming the top back down as if to trap whatever was inside. Eventually though, she grins.

“Ha!” From one box, she pulls free a pile of thick folded blankets and a jute bag. Another crate gives sealed jars of dried herbs and a clay jar of grain. Finally, Sophie returns with her findings, setting them down on another crate. “Okay, found blankets, enough stuff for bedding. Bunch of bandages, herbs.” She smiles up at him, dried mud flaking off her cheek. “Build a fire, get some water going, and we’ll wash all this dirt off of us, yes?”

Fenris’ heart thumps in his chest. “Yes.”

The water outside is cold, as expected, and though they only wash their faces and hands, Fenris is shivering by the time they return to the fire Sophie built using broken wood from further in the cave. Sophie has strips of cotton soaking in boiling water that she pulls free and wrings using a stick. She shivers too, her wet damp hair braided back and dripping against her shirt and Fenris follows a drop of water as it trails down the side of her neck.

“Alright,” she says, snapping Fenris back to the moment. “We’ll start with your leg. I’m gonna have to cut away the fabric around it, is that okay?” She asks, looking up at him. Wrapped in one of the thick blankets, Fenris nods, an odd shiver dancing up his spine. Sophie pulls a small pair of shears from her little kit and gently starts snipping at the bloodied trouser leg, casting bits aside along with the ruined bandage. His fingers dig tight into the wool blanket as her fingers graze his skin, barely missing his markings, slowly peeling away the fabric to reveal the wound. The branch missed the curling pale lines around his thigh. The skin around it is smeared with blood, tender to the touch and a little red. Sophie hums, frowning. “Okay. Clean it, then the salve,” she says, gaze flicking up to his. Fenris nods and she gets to work, using the still warm cotton to gently wash his skin, every touch light and careful.

Fenris shivers again, but not from the cold. It hurts, he expected that. What he doesn’t count on is the soft tingle where Sophie’s skin touches his own, a lingering warmth that pulls his focus away from the wound and to the woman herself. She bites her lip as she works, tilting her head to peer at his leg, iron-bright eyes focused and clear. Another strip of cotton is plucked from her kit and is used to dry his skin before Sophie applies the salve. Fenris’ breath catches in his throat. Sophie freezes, wincing.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.”

Fenris closes his eyes, swallows, brings his focus to his breathing. Slow in, hold, slow out. When he trusts his voice, he speaks. “It is fine. You are not causing me pain.”

“You sure?” Sophie asks and he nods.

“Continue.” He’s almost ready for it this time, the warming salve tingling as it melts into his skin, Sophie’s touch warmer still. He misses it when she pulls away, guides his leg up to re-wrap the wound, leaving the branch where it was for the moment. He listens as she moves around him to his other side, pulling off the gauze pressed to his forehead. Fenris continues his focused breathing as water drips and a hot cloth rubs over his forehead. It’s nice, soothing, helps the pain in his head.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” Sophie’s voice is low, soothing and Fenris cannot help the small smile.

“No.” Sophie laughs, gently pressing the cotton to his head wound. The pain grounds him and he opens his eyes again, glancing at her. “How is it?” He asks.

“Not that bad. It’ll scar, but head wounds always bleed like crazy.” Her pink lips pull into a smile as she dabs elfroot salve to it. “Just a little gash.” She leans to her kit, pulls out something a tan colour and carefully sets it over the cut. It sticks and Fenris wrinkles his nose at the sensation. “Okay.” Sophie breathes. “Anything else?”

“Your own injuries?” A quick study shows little, cuts and bruises a graze on one cheek. “Your ribs.” Sophie frowns.

“Right. Those.” She shakes her head, tidying her things. “I can handle it. But before I forget,” she pops out a pair of little white pills, and then two more, green and white into her hand and offers him one of each and her metal bottle of water. “This will help with pain and the other will fend off infection. It might make you sleepy, which, considering your eyes are focused again, won’t be a problem.” Sophie’s lips quirk into a crooked smile. “If it kills you, you can haunt my ass.”

Fenris laughs, the sound rushing free from his chest, his head falling back. Sophie’s laughter joins him, both gradually trailing off .“Perhaps I will,” He says, taking the little pill and swallowing it with water. Sophie doesn’t answer, just winks and stands to prod at things by the fire, leaving to fetch fresh water to boil. Still smiling, Fenris leans back against the crate Sophie had propped him against, wiggling his toes in the fire’s warmth.

It’s ridiculous. He should not be feeling like this, and yet, he is not fool enough to deny his attraction. A gentle heart, wrapped in warmth, a sharp mind and good humour, courage and a fierce defiance giving her steel. Respecting his space, his privacy, asking if she needed to touch him or get closer. No needling, but playful teasing she levies at all that endear themselves to her. He would miss her. Fenris’ mood plummets. Once at Haven, should they make it, she would no longer need his protection. Were there others from her world, she would have her own people to find solace with, a mutual loss he cannot fathom drawing them together. He could offer his help in uncovering the reason for the Magister’s interference, but beyond that?

Sophie’s boots scuff against the dusty stone floor, and Fenris fixes his gaze just beyond the fire. No. Worry about getting to Haven first.

Sophie puts the water close enough to boil and she scuffles over to sit by him, wincing as she settles down. From her bag she pulls something, a little brown packet that she tears open with ease. The scent of something sweet hits his nose as she breaks off a piece of the packet’s contents and offers it to him. Fenris frowns, taking it and holding it in the light to study. It’s brown, solid and smooth save for the break, a little design etched into the top.

“What is this?”

Sophie snaps off her own piece with a mischievous little smile. “Yummy. You put it in your mouth.” She says and demonstrates, waggling her brows at him.

Fenris sighs and puts the little piece on his tongue. A creamy taste, subtly sweet, a little nutty and a touch bitter registers, the treat starting to melt in his mouth. Fenris’ eyes go wide and he turns it over with his tongue. Yes, thick, but completely foreign and new and not unpleasant. Like velvet. From the corner of his gaze, he catches Sophie watching him. Fenris tries biting the thing and is rewarded with a satisfying sensation of it breaking apart between his teeth. He chews, swallows, the melted remains lingering in his mouth.

“What is this?” Fenris asks, licking at his teeth, eyeing the packet balanced on her knee.

“Chocolate,” Sophie says. “From home. Made in a place called Noosa. You like it?” Fenris nods, a little warmth rushing through his mind. Sophie cracks off another piece for him and puts the packet away. “Go ahead.” Sophie says, noticing his frown.

“I don’t want to take it all.” Fenris says. The piece was starting to melt between his fingers.

“You won’t.” Sophie says leaning back. “Go on.” Fenris nibbles at it, letting each bit linger and melt on his tongue as Sophie checks through their rations and supplies, repacking her back. He sucks the last of it from his thumb as Sophie pours boiled water into a tin for tea, and mixes a packet of something from her pack with the rest of the hot water, throwing in pieces of hard tack, dried meat and barley from the clay jar. Dinner is simple and they eat it in silence, pain and weariness weighing on Fenris, making his movements clumsy. He loses track of time, finds himself leaning on something warm. Gentle hand guides him to lay down on the layered blankets, a makeshift pillow made from something soft that smells like flowers and tea. He breathes it in, slipping into sleep.

They leave the cave in the early morning, having left over pottage for breakfast. Fenris’ leg is stiff, agonising to walk on, and he shivers despite the warm blanket wrapped around him and Sophie’s warmth as she supports him. Fenris feels like he’s lost in a fog, in a maze of trees they have no way of escaping, warm then cold within minutes. The pain overwhelms his focus, he loses track of time, his world narrowing down to the hot ache of his leg. It’s concerning.

His attention wavers, vision dimming. He leans heavier on Sophie and she grunts, adjusting her grip on him.

“You should put me down. You don’t have to carry me.” Fenris says. His voice sounds wrong, but his words are right. She needs to get to Haven.

“Shut up. I’m carrying you.” Sophie answers, not pausing. “You saved my ass more than enough. I’m not leaving you. S’only fair, alright?” Fair? Few things were fair, especially fate. Sophie isn’t fair. She’s kind, defending him from Gaston, Meryne’s objectification, caring even when his mood fouled and he snapped. She made him socks. She put them on his feet that morning. And Maker, she is soft. Fenris’ head lolls against her shoulder, too heavy for him to hold up. Something is wrong.

“Fuck,” Sophie says. “Fuck!”

The next he looks, the sunlight is soft, cascading through the leaves as shafts of gold. It catches on Sophie’s brown hair, bringing out the brassy tones as she sets him down against a tree beside the brook. The air is cold against his skin, but fresh to his lungs, the sound of water pleasant.

“Fen?” Who’s Fen? “Fenris, hey, look at me.” Sophie’s hands in cool leather gently cups his jaw, raises his face to hers. “Stay with me, okay?” Stay? Fenris squints and she comes into focus. A bruise is forming on her cheek around the graze. Staying. He likes the thought of that.

“I…” He swallows, throat dry. “I am here.”

A strained smile pulls at Sophie’s lips and she nods. “Good. No going away, okay?” She fumbles at her bag, pulling her water bottle free.

“I won’t.” He has no desire to, if he’s honest. The closer they come to Haven, the closer they come to parting ways. She won’t need him. Sophie brings a pill and the bottle to his lips and he drinks, clutching at the bottle and her hands until it spills over his lips. He pushes it away. “You, you need to-”

“I will, just keep your eyes open.” Sophie says, taking a quick drink from the bottle, looking around them, her other hand pressing to her ribs, pain tightening her jaw. Fenris looks away, eyes passing over trees, smaller growths of plants pushing through the forest floor, bright and green against the brown. There’s worse places to fall. And then his gaze falls on a familiar dark shape.

The same hound from before quietly steps through the underbrush, the rustle of the dead leaves drawing Sophie’s attention. She stands, placing herself between Fenris at the animal. The hound cocks its head and barks three times, loud and insistent. Sophie’s hands go to her knives and a moment later, branches snap, leaves crunch as a figure emerges from between the trees.

“Alright, alright, I heard you!” A young woman shouts, thick, black hair twisted away from her face, nut-brown skin striking against the pale scarf around her throat. She stops mid-stride, gaze on the pair for a long terrible moment.

“Hello?” Sophie calls and the woman starts.”Wait, wait, please!” Sophie lifts her hands, empty of weapons and Fenris grits his teeth, uses his hands to lift himself up as the woman hesitates, the hound bounding towards her before turning and bounding back. “Please, my friend, I, we need help. He’s hurt.”

“Sophie-” Fenris reaches for her, meaning to pull her back. This could be a trap. Dangerous. His leg gives beneath him and he starts to fall. Sophie cries out, catching him and they sink to the ground. Footsteps rush through the brush towards them.

“What happened?” The woman asks, the dog darting around her. The big beast sniffs first at Sophie and then at Fenris, lingering at the wound on his thigh.

“A dragon, of all things.” Sophie says, waving at them. The hound sniffs at the branch sticking out of Fenris’ leg and wuffs.

“What did you find, Holt?” The younger woman asks, the thickly curled hair falling over her shoulder in a braid. She’s clean, her clothing well made and lovingly mended, Ferelden by her voice. She peers at Fenris’ leg and blanches. “Maker. We can help. That wound will get infected unless it’s tended to.”

“Yeah, we didn’t have the tools to do that.” Sophie says. Her fingers tighten around his shoulder, almost as tightly as he clutches at her cloak. She’s afraid.

The woman’s nods. Her lips move, her words soft and Fenris catches the edge of it. “The sap of that tree…” Sophie swears. The two women help him from the ground and Fenris closes his eyes against the swaying world He smells grass, sweet lavender. Sophie’s voice is breathless in his ear. She’s asking him to stay, but he isn’t going anywhere. He doesn’t want to. He can’t find the words to tell her. He can’t speak. He can’t breathe. Sophie…

Pain, bright and vicious, tears through his leg. Fenris wakes with a scream, struggling to get away from the pain. Voices shout above him, hands press. NO. They won’t take him. They won’t take him back. He will not let them. Sophie? Where is she?

He hears his name, looks until he finds the source. Sophie’s face swims into view, tear stained, afraid.

“Fen, Fenris! You’re safe. I’m right here” It’s her hands on his shoulders, strong like steel. Why? “But we’ve got to get the branch out!” Branch? He searches his memories. Dragon, falling, pain. Sophie’s voice _stay with me, please_.

Fenris breathes, reaching for her hand.

“Hey,” she says, smiling through tears. She’s crying. Sophie shouldn’t cry. “Think you can handle getting a stick pulled out of your leg?” She asks, tangling their fingers together.

“Yes.” He says but no sound comes from his throat.

“Just hold onto me.” Sophie says and nods to someone else in the room. More pain. It brings him focus, clarity. Lamplight paints everything in golden shades, the breathing of those around him rising over the anxious sound of animals. He smells hay, blood, and elfroot. Fenris focuses on the hand holding his, breathes through his nose. He knows pain. He’s endured worse. All that escapes him is a drawn out grunt as they pull the object from his leg. His grip on consciousness wavers, but he clings to the pain, stays awake while calloused fingers flush his wound, add salve and stitch it closed.

Sophie lifts him, leans him against her chest as an old farmer brings a bowl to his lips. It’s a hot meaty broth steeped with elfroot, and he drinks it down until he can’t swallow anymore. It warms him, makes him drowsy, and he lets Sophie take his weight. She strokes his hair and a memory rises, faint, his head on his mother’s lap, her voice humming, hand on his head. He falls asleep, safe, in the memory of his mother’s arms.

Sleep holds onto him tight. He wakes briefly, bundled in blankets. The sun is up, filtering through a high window. A fire crackles, the straw mattress beneath him rustles as he moves. The smell of it surrounds him. Sophie is there, she touches his cheek, helps him drink water, clean and cool. Sleep, she says and he sleeps.

Something damp strokes his brow. Fenris shakes, leans into the cool and warm.

“Just hang on for me, okay?” Sophie says. “You wouldn’t have fallen if I hadn’t frozen. If you didn’t have to save me again.” He hears the beat of dragon wings.

“As if I could have done anything else.” He answers. The dragon has them. He burns.

He wakes. It’s dark. Sophie sleeps, her folded arms on the mattress beside him, her face pale. Dark shadows bruise her eyes and she shivers, her cloak having fallen from her shoulders. It’s cold, the fire little more than red coals. Fenris lifts a hand that feels weighed with iron and drags his fingers over her hair and Sophie shifts in her sleep. Fenris brings his hand to her cheek, her skin soft but cool. Her brows twitch.

“Sophie…”

She stirs, eyes fluttering. “Mmm?”

“It is cold.” Fenris says. His heart races in his chest. She shouldn’t be cold. She should sleep. He will be fine. “Go to bed.”

Sophie frowns, burying her face in her arms. “I’m not leaving.” Her words mumble together and Fenris smiles. He shifts under the blanket and pulls them from under her arms. He hesitates a moment before sighing.

“Get in.” Fenris’ heart pounds. What is he doing? This is… Unwise. But it’s cold, and he can see no other bed in the room, and they need not lay close. And he cannot bear the thought of her not being there when he wakes. It’s selfish, and will only lead to greater hurt in the days ahead. But her knees must ache, and they are both cold. “Sophie-” The woman groans and pulls herself up, crawling under the blankets with mumbled complaints. She curls up facing him, and he pulls the covers up, carefully pressing himself against the wall as Sophie sighs and yawns. Eyes on her face, a terrifying ache in his chest, Fenris lays down, watching until the frown of her face goes slack in sleep.

Perhaps it will be okay. Just for the night. He can savour this for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Not only am I late, but I'm horrible to Sophie and Fenris.   
> This week was rough again but I'm getting some solid help. Stay safe everyone, and reach out if you need a hand, friends. <3


	10. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re back on the road to Haven, the cart is whole and the dragon swoops down towards Sophie. Fenris is too slow this time, he can’t reach her in time to cover her body with his. The dragon opens its mouth, belches fire and Sophie is swallowed by the flame.
> 
> “Sophie!” Fenris wakes, fights to sit up. His head is too heavy, the world moves and sways around him. It’s morning, pale sunlight cutting through the gloom. He hears voices over the bleating of sheep, an odd rattling that reveals itself to be the purring of a long furred, yellow eyed cat tucked beside him where Sophie should be. Squinting, his eyes aching, Fenris scans the space around him. Wood pillars and walls, bundles of hay around him, Sophie’s bag laid at the end of the bed. A tightness in his chest loosens and he lets out a slow sigh. Laying back down, he breathes in the scent of hay, the distant but distinctive tang of woodsmoke, clean linens and elfroot. He closes his eyes. He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always much love and cookies to my betas. Love and cookies to my lovely readers and commenters, you guys rock~
> 
> As always you can find me on [Tumblr](https://tumblr.com/weird-in-thedas) or on Discord at [The Hanged Man.](https://discord.gg/9RERC6R)
> 
> Enjoy <3  
> \- Cas

**Chapter 10**

They’re back on the road to Haven, the cart is whole and the dragon swoops down towards Sophie. Fenris is too slow this time, he can’t reach her in time to cover her body with his. The dragon opens its mouth, belches fire and Sophie is swallowed by the flame.

“Sophie!” Fenris wakes, fights to sit up. His head is too heavy, the world moves and sways around him. It’s morning, pale sunlight cutting through the gloom. He hears voices over the bleating of sheep, an odd rattling that reveals itself to be the purring of a long furred, yellow eyed cat tucked beside him where Sophie should be. Squinting, his eyes aching, Fenris scans the space around him. Wood pillars and walls, bundles of hay around him, Sophie’s bag laid at the end of the bed. A tightness in his chest loosens and he lets out a slow sigh. Laying back down, he breathes in the scent of hay, the distant but distinctive tang of woodsmoke, clean linens and elfroot. He closes his eyes. He sleeps.

He shivers. He’s freezing, but gentle fingers are warm on his skin. Sophie gives him an apologetic smile, dabbing at the wound on his thigh. Her voice comes and he focuses on it until her words become clear.

“…infected, sorry. I know you don’t like being touched.”

Fenris frowns, willing his tongue to move. “S’alright.” He swallows, throat parched. “You don’t hurt…” It probably should. All these years, the markings in his flesh ache, a perpetual reminder of their presence. Any touch only intensifies the pain, blistering, aching, stabbing. But Sophie’s fingers, calloused but light against him, with the faintest hum of magic behind them, are pleasant. He watches without shame as she replaces his bandage, a little furrow between her brows as she concentrates. She shifts, turning for something out of sight, and lifts a steaming pot of tea and a cup.

“Think you can try drinking something?” She asks. Fenris nods. His head feels heavy, but he braces his elbow against the straw mattress beneath him and rises enough for Sophie to stuff pillows behind his back. He leans closer to drink from the cup she holds to his lips. The tea is warm, fragrant, soothing his throat and spreading a warmth through his belly. When Sophie presents him with a pair of small pills, he opens his mouth. Her cheeks pink as she slips them between his lips. “So, one of these is an antibiotic. That’ll help with the infection. The other will help bring your fever down, and help you feel better in the meantime.” Another draught of tea and Fenris sags back, weary and weak as a newborn.

“Where…?” He rasps, flicking his gaze to the walls around them.

“A farm. We were lucky when that dog and Amila found us. Apparently he has a habit of bringing in strays.” Sophie smiles, bringing the blankets up to Fenris’ shoulders. “The owner, Jensen, used to work with an apothecary. It’s one of the only reasons you’re…” She trails off, blinking and schools her face into a mask of calm. “He helped. We can stay as long as we need.” She shrugs her shoulder. “So long as I help out around the farm.”

“Hard work.” Fenris says, peering at her face. A smudge of dirt is on her cheek.

“Yeah, but simple. I don’t mind simple.”

Fenris tries to lift his arm, and succeeds in only bumping his hand against Sophie’s thigh. “Your ribs?”

“Are fine, Mr. Worry Wort.” She puts her hand over his, markings and all, and Fenris silently marvels at such a simple thing given without a thought. “I got this. You rest. You need it.”

A lantern swings overhead, the scent of animals is strong. The cat is a ball in Fenris’ lap, and somewhere out of sight comes the sound of water and soft humming. There’s bread and a stew cooling in a clay bowl beside him and those little pills. He takes them, eats and tastes nothing. He falls asleep with the bowl in his hands and Sophie’s voice a sweet lullaby.

Sunlight hits his eyes. He aches but his mind feels a little more clear. Women giggle, puppies yap and scuffle. The cat is gone but by his bed sits a grey-furred mabari watching the litter of months-old pups gambol and play. There’s water and broth beside him, a little piece of brown Sophie called chocolate and another pair of pills. He manages to sit and eat, looking down from the loft to a golden vision. Sophie and the farmer’s daughter, Amila, sit amongst straw sorting through fleece as the pups romp through the fluff. One pup, the biggest of the five, blue-grey with white forepaws, clambers onto Sophie’s lap, tail a little blur as it licks at her face. She laughs, trying to escape, ruffling the pup’s slightly thicker fur until she tips over and lands amongst the straw. Amila giggles as puppies swarm the downed woman, Sophie squealing with delight. Fenris smiles, eyes growing heavy. She deserves to laugh. He enjoys hearing it.

A cold night, he shivers in a clearing, sword in hand. He fights, but the blood that hits his face is dark, and like ice. He cuts a man down, shoves him away, and the body bursts into flame. Sophie calls his name and he turns, too slow. Her hands burn, drip with blood, and she stares at him, pleading with her eyes.

“Fenris, please,” she gasps and the fire becomes ice, becomes lightning, a wave of magic that eats her to the bone. He can’t get to her, catching her bones as they fall to the bloodied ground. The fire spreads to him, hot, cold, agonising. He wakes, gasping, blankets kicked off him in sleep.

It’s dark. No moonlight filters from the little window, no torchlight to see by. Panting, Fenris reaches, feels along the blankets, his leg burning from the movement. Sophie isn’t there. A jolt hits his heart. Where—? A click. Bright light illuminates the little alcove, coming from the torch in Sophie’s hand. She blinks, bleary-eyed, the two pups dead asleep on her legs where she slept on a little cot by the bed.

“Fen?” She asks, voice rough, wiggling out from her blankets, brown hair falling free over her shoulder. “Are you okay?” Fenris shivers, his mind blank. Is he okay? He’s cold, he hurts, he’s tired and he… He saw her burn. He knows this is ridiculous. He’s sick, fever raging in his blood, but all he wants is her with him. It’s selfish, Maker, he knows it is, he’s not entitled to her company or kindness. Sophie is her own, likely to find her own path once they come to Haven. Friends they may be, but that’s no guarantee in this world. He is only… Himself. Despite this, he relents to her care, laying down as she pulls his blankets back up.

“I am fine,” He grits out, ignoring the deep ache in his thigh. It’s a lie, and Sophie sees through it, brows drawing together.

“Uh huh. How’s the leg?” She asks, jabbing at his hip through the blankets. Fenris glares before sighing.

“It hurts. I am tired, cold.” He licks his dried lips, cold despite the blankets. “I have bad dreams.”

“No surprises there.” Sophie touches her fingers to his forehead, a brief little touch, and hums. “You’re not that warm. You want me to look—”

“No.”

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever-”

“Sophie!” Fenris catches her hands in his. “Stay.” She blinks at him, lips parted in surprise. “Please.”

“I…” Sophie gives a little smile. “Okay.” She squeezes his fingers. “Shift over, Grumpy-face.”

Fenris sighs, almost laughing, and does so. “I don’t have a ‘grumpy face.’”

“Might wanna tell your face that.” Sophie says slipping in beside him, shifting close enough for her warmth to sink into him, tucking her arm beneath the pillow and tucking the blankets up to both their chins. “C’mere.” She tugs him closer until he’s tucked against her front, his head beneath her cheek. Fenris’ eyes prickle, hot tears threatening to fall.

He can’t remember the last time he’s been held. Ten years of freedom, the years before that. No one has held him. He hasn’t wanted anyone to, not trusting, not daring to let them close enough to cut his belly. He sucks in a slow breath, breathing in Sophie’s scent, his own sweat, terrified and glad and grateful. Whatever happens, he’ll have this; a simple act of comfort, Sophie’s breath ruffling his hair, her hand gently rubbing his back. He breathes out.

Little paws scrape against wood, and something lands on the bed by their feet. Sophie giggles, pulling the blankets down enough for them to see. A mabari puppy yawns, showing white teeth before padding up the bed and settling its head on Sophie’s thighs, regarding Fenris with solemn eyes.

“Mabari.” He says.

“Yeah, they’ve been keeping us company.” She gently runs her fingers over the pup’s head, stroking a large soft looking ear, pointed and whole instead of cropped. “Apparently they do that.”

“They imprint.” Fenris says, words slurring, watching the pup’s eyes drift close.

“Amila said that.” Sophie smiles sleepily at him. “Sleep, you dork.”

He wakes again when Sophie rises, tucking the blankets around his shoulders. He frowns, reaching, unsure of what he’s reaching for. Sophie smiles down at him, laying him back.

“Uh uh. You’re still healing.” She says, whole and healthy. The nightmare flickers through his mind. He still hears her plea, tastes the fear on the back of his throat.

“Sophie?” Fenris touches her hair, watches her cheeks go pink. Would she want him to stay in Haven?

“You okay?” She asks, eyes big, like a heavy storm, a paler ring around each pupil. He nods. His leg doesn’t ache as fiercely, and he feels warm and safe. Sophie smiles. “Go back to sleep, okay?” He lays down, eyes closing against his will. Warm fingers brush over his hair and as he sinks, something brushes against his forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

Voices talk, Sophie’s and Amila with the mabari pups around them. Fenris lifts his head. They sit by the ladder leading down, working cleaned fleece through long toothed combs. Puppies scramble and play on the lower level, yipping and playful growls mingling with the quiet sound of chickens. They’re big for pups, with fuller tails and pointed ears. Not full blooded, he suspects, recalling the great hound Amila called Holt. Beside Fenris, a cat purrs against his hip, tail flicking. Somehow, Sophie realises he’s awake, looking over the girl’s shoulder. She smiles. There’s white flowers in her hair.

He manages to stay awake, and struggles to stand on his own. His leg is weak, buckles when he leans his weight to his left side. He did not get this far only to give in to a healing wound. It takes time, but he makes his way to the pot tucked in a corner to relieve himself and take advantage of the fresh water to wash the sweat from his skin. It’s bliss, using the fine soap Sophie had brought with her, working it through his hair and over his skin. Once he’s done, he’s too weary to do more than stare out the window and breathe in the fresh air.

Eventually he finds it in him to move again, redressing in clean clothes and sitting on the bed to catch his breath. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

◆

Sophie finds him asleep, sprawled on his back with the kind of abandon that only comes with swift and all consuming oblivion. Lucky bugger.

Setting down her tray of food, Sophie regards the elf, watches his front rise and fall with every deep breath. How many hours has she spent listening to him breathe, heart in her throat, terrified it would stop. The first few days were alright. He was wrecked, the infection just setting in, a little delirious with pain and exhaustion when he wasn’t asleep, his body fighting to heal. Now and then he’d wake, he’d speak, looking up at her with his beautiful green eyes, pupils wide and dark. _As if I could do anything else._ Those words echo in her head even now, twisting her stomach. She’d fallen asleep by the bed. And in it once. She blushes every time she thinks about it, waking with Fenris’ face inches from hers, white hair falling across his face.

And then it got worse. His fever spiked, the infection grew worse and the nightmares started, words in a language she’d never heard before falling from his lips. He screamed, afraid, calling names she didn’t know, and sometimes hers.

Jensen Hale sat with her as they fought to bring him back, cleaning the pus from Fenris’ wound, feeding him when they could, pouring elfroot tincture down his throat every few hours. Sophie slept a few hours at a time, ready to wake at the slightest sound. Elfroot and healing herbs were in his food, his drink, mingling with his sweat and other less pleasant bodily fluids. With Jensen’s help, they’d wash his body, bundle him in clean sheets and watch, and watch, and hope.

Sophie has never been so afraid.

She can’t remember when the fever broke, only that it did.

“He’s a long way from well,” Jensen says, watching Sophie intently as she slowly works through a meal of fish and salted meat with winter vegetables, the stern frown on his face shifting to a reassuring smile that makes his dark-as-ink eyes twinkle. “But he’s through the worst of it.” Neither of them speak on the what if, the worst case scenario, still too close to contemplate. Not if Sophie wants to go a whole day without crying.

“Anything I can do to repay your help?” Sophie says, watching Fenris’ chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths.

“We already made that deal, serah.” Jensen says, leaning his wiry brown arms on his knees. “Help with the farm, the sheep. I won’t take your coin.”

Sophie chews on a piece of mutton, studying the farmer. He is a big man, strong from a lifetime of labour, and as gentle as he is stubborn. It’d taken an hour to convince him to let her help at all in repayment for his help, only accepting a few sovereigns to pay for the medicines he made.

Sophie sighs. “You saved his life. Mine too, probably. That’s a big debt I can’t just drop.” Jensen studies her, scratches at the closely-cropped beard along his jaw.

“No,” He says after a few long minutes, idly reaching to pat the big-ass dog dozing at his feet. A mabari, Amila told her with a proud smile. A big dog, broad-chested, like a pitbull or a staffy up-sized. Only Holt the mabari-wolf-dog was bigger, more like his wild brethren than the dogs on the farm. Jensen huffs, white teeth flashing as he grins. “Then perhaps a compromise. I have helped you and your friend this day. In your days ahead, give your aid to another.”

“So pass it on.” Sophie says. Jensen shrugs.

“When you are able.” He stands and pats her shoulder. “Sleep first. I’ll need your help in the morning.”

Jensen keeps his word. Each early morning she’s roused and put to work, pulling weeds and dead things from garden beds, tilling the rich, dark soil, sowing seeds. It’s hard work, but simple, putting her hands into the earth, on living animals, on seeds and roots. Brigid, Jensen’s wife, a tall, slender woman with autumn hair and sun-browned skin, commandeers Sophie for kitchen work, then sheep herding, and then shearing, strong hands clipping the fleece from each one with steel shears that could take Sophie’s finger off.

“Best not make the animal wait for you to be done.” She says, nodding for Sophie to let the sheep go. It bleats, trotting away to join the growing number of freshly sheared fellows.

“It’s not making the sheep wait I’m worried about,” Sophie answers, leading the next to be clipped. “It’s cutting the poor thing.”

Brigid just smiles and holds out the shears. “Then learn not to.”

By the evening, Sophie stinks of sheep and sweat and lanolin, but she’s proud, carrying a tray of bread she helped make and stew she helped cook back to the loft. She washes herself in the barn, humming the melody that drifted from the fields all day, climbs to finish her meal, finding Fenris asleep, the farm cat licking at the cold stew left in his bowl. She huffs, stroking the cat’s fluffy fur.

“You’ll look after him for me?” She asks. The cat gives her a blank look, stretching its forelegs out before curling up on Fenris’ belly. “Fair enough then.”

Sorting fleece isn’t hard, just… Fiddly. The puppies don’t help.

“They really love being around people, huh?” Sophie asks, pausing her work to pull fleece from one’s paw and return it to the waste pile. Amila laughs, long dexterous fingers plucking leaves and bits of bark and grass from bits of fluff.

“You mean they love being in the way?” She asks with a grin, nudging a mottled brown and grey pup out of her way with her booted foot. “Yes. They do. They’re helping.” Amila coos, scruffing at the neck of another, flecked with black and grey. “You know the breed?” Sophie hesitates and shakes her head. “Mabari. Mamae told me that they came south from the far north, bred with magic to be fierce war dogs.”

“I can see that.” Sophie says. The puppy’s mother was easily one of the biggest dogs Sophie’s ever seen with her own eyes, short tail, powerful jaws and utterly and completely obedient to Brigid. Smart too, following Brigid’s commands without hesitation.

Amila smiles, picking up a new bit of fleece and quickly working through it, discarding the worst bits in one basket, the rest in another. “It’s said they decided they rather liked our ancestors better than their Tevene masters, turning against them, fighting with us, staying with us.” One pup, a blue-grey thing with uncanny yellow eyes, shoves her head onto Sophie’s lap, tail wagging so hard her whole body wiggles. Sophie giggles, rubbing at her soft ears.

“Dogs are good. Always had cats at home,” She says, “but I always thought dogs were very, very good.”

Amila laughs. “They are. That one likes you I think?”

“Oh? Poor taste, I sympath-” Big paws land on Sophie’s chest, the big and heavy puppy licking at Sophie’s face. They go down, Sophie landing in unsorted fleece, the wiggling puppy licking delightedly at her face as Amila laughs so hard she bends in two.

The dogs don’t give her much space after that, the five-strong litter keeping the two young women company as they work the farm, following Sophie up the steep steps to the loft to sprawl around the cot. Keeping her company, Amila says. “They know you’re worried.”

Yeah. ‘Worried’ is a word one could use. Fenris stays awake for longer, eats more, colour coming back to his skin, humour back to his words. It’s hard not to lose herself into his eyes, green like a forest with moss underfoot, sharp like glass. Even the nightmares start to get better, Fenris only waking once, the elf wild-eyed and panting clutching her hands. He asks her to stay, and Sophie is too helpless to say no. He trembles under the blankets beside her, freezing when she tugs him close and wraps him in her arms. Sophie pretends not to hear him softly weep, not to feel the sobs shudder through his back as he twists his fingers into her hoodie, pressing as close as he can. Slowly, the sobs subside, Fenris going still and Sophie presses a kiss to his hair.

“You’ll be okay,” she murmurs fingers following the line of his spine. “You’re safe.” She doesn’t manage to sleep, instead watching Fenris as sleep eases his frown. In the morning light, she realises: he has freckles.

The evening of the next day, Sophie finds him on a bale of hay, inspecting his cleaned and oiled armour with a critical eye. He’s washed, hair damp and slicked back from his face, the trio of lyrium dots on his forehead revealed for her to see. He smiles wearily when Sophie appears, a tray balanced in her hands.

“Hungry?” she asks, stepping up one rung and sliding the tray onto the loft. The scent of stew wafts through the air, and Fenris’ stomach growls in answer.

He smiles, cheeks flushing with colour. “Yes. It appears I am.”

“Good!” Sophie says ignoring the way her head pounds in her chest. “There’s plenty and I am starving.” She sets the tray beside him on the hay bale, dragging over a small box to sit upon. She’s sweaty, knees filthy, stray strands of hair standing wild. Fenris wrinkles his nose and she laughs.

“Yeah, I know. I’m gross.” She says, handing him a bowl. Their fingers brush and it takes a second for Sophie to regain focus. He chuckles, looking at the stew rather than the woman beside him.

“Far from it.” He says, taking a taste of his meal. His eyes close for a moment, savouring the taste with a small smile. She tears her gaze away.

“Then stop making that face.” Sophie prods his arm with her finger and Fenris waves her off.

“I am not.” He says.

“You are,” Sophie gives him a playful smile. He smirks, reaching out to rub his thumb over the tip of her nose.

“Dirt.” He says simply and starts to eat.

“Dirt.” Sophie repeats, looking down at her stew. “Right.”

It’s days later when a rider comes to the farm. Sophie looks up when Amila stops mid motion, wet fleece in her hand, the dogs around them going still and alert. They track the rider as he follows the low wall bordering the farm, and enters the gate, sunlight glinting off the greatsword on his back. Amila frowns squinting at the figure, tall and broad, dark hair falling across his eyes.

“You know him?” Sophie asks, leaning on the side of the drying rack, gently patting the head of the blue-grey pup that insists on following her. The man dismounts and is approached by Brigid, her mabari padding by her side. He bows, touching his fist to his chest.

“No… But he seems to know you.” Amila says. Brigid points him towards the pair, and he lifts a hand and jogs towards them.

“Sophie!” He bellows.

“Is that—?” She blinks. “Carver!” Dropping her bit of fleece, she darts down the stone steps to meet him halfway. “I thought you were dead!”

“You—Maker’s breath,” He scowls at her, looking her over. “I thought you were dead! I’ve been looking for you for weeks!”

“We…” Sophie glances at the barn behind her. “We nearly were.” Carver follows her gaze

“Fenris? Is he alive?”

“Yeah,” Sophie says, and Carver sighs with relief. “He’s still recovering, I… What the fuck happened?!”

“Dragon.” Carver says, gesturing at the barn, taking long strides towards it. “You think he’s well enough to travel?”

“No—Oi!” Sophie darts after him, having to jog to keep up. “He nearly—slow down, you wanker.” She pulls at Carver’s arm until he stops. “He nearly died.” Carver’s head snaps to her and Sophie lets out a sob, sudden tears springing to her eyes. Fenris nearly died. And it would have been her fault. He nearly died because of her. “H-he… He got an infection. It was bad. It… Fuck.” She takes off her glasses to scrub at her face. Don’t fucking cry. Keep it together. “He can walk, but only just.”

From the corner of her eyes, Carver studies her for a long moment, lips pressed into a hard line and a rather impressive frown pulling his brows together. “That bad?” He asks, voice soft. Sophie nods, blinking until the raised garden bed beside them becomes clear. Carver sighs. “Do you think I can speak to him?”

She bites her lip. She hasn’t been thinking of Haven, pushing off the question of what waits, what comes next. Answers maybe, or nothing. A new place to find her feet, or just another ledge to leap off and hope she finds something further along. All the while trying not to wonder if she’ll have to say goodbye to the man she’s come so far with. Sophie sighs. “He’ll probably want to leave soon as we can.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Carver jerks a thumb at the barn. “I’ll say hello but we really need to figure what you want to do.”

Amila looks between them both, worry clear on her face as they approach the barn. “Friend of yours?” She asks, fixing Carver with the same keen study her mother had Sophie.

“Yeah. Carver Hawke, Amila Hale.” Sophie gestures between them. “He’s a friend of Fenris, one of the ones we were travelling with.”

Amila’s lips press together, her hands on the heads of the mabari around her legs. They sniff at Carver, tails wagging, and he smiles down at them.

“Beautiful dogs.” He says. Amila nods.

“Fereldan?”

“Used to be. Before the blight.” He crouches, offering a hand to the dogs, and is greeted with eager sniffs and puppy grins. “I’m Carver.” He says. Sophie frowns, glancing at Amila who slowly starts to smile.

“You said.”

“Right.” Carver stands, ears turning red. “Uh, Fenris is inside? I’ll just go…” He stumbles over the threshold, ears red and quickly heads for the loft.

“Um…” Sophie puts her glasses back on. “So that happened.”

Amila cackles and throws wet fleece at Sophie’s face.

Sophie’s still damp with wet fleece in her hair when she mounts the steps to the loft. Carver and Fenris pause mid conversation, both fighting off smirks.

Sophie sighs. “Eat a dick. Both of you.” The two men laugh, Fenris at least trying to hide his smile behind his fingers.

“Did you battle a sheep?” He asks, green eyes alight with mirth. It almost makes up for the shadowy bruising under his eyes.

"Yes, Fenris," Sophie says, stripping off her damp woollen coat and laying it over the railing. "I battled a sheep. Several in fact. They also want you to eat a dick." She drops down onto a box and Fenris grins. “So? The hell happened after we fell?”

Carver sigh. “Alright. You fell, dragon took the Orlesian’s horse and the druffalo…” He carves his fingers through his black hair. “Brysen had to take shelter further up the road until we were sure it had moved on. We looked…” His gaze wanders to the bandage around Fenris’ leg. “We couldn’t go down the slope without falling ourselves, we tried, I…” Carver huffs, staring at the far end of the barn. “Brysen ordered us to continue. It was slow, but he left word at every outpost to look for you both. I only managed to convince that prig Cullen to let me look.”

Fenris straightens. “Cullen? Rutherford?” Carver nods.

“He’s commander of the Inquisition forces. Still a bit up his own arse.” He pinks, glancing at Sophie. “Sorry.”

“I’m Australian, Carver. Swearing is part of our vocabulary.” She says with a smile.

“And what now?” Fenris asks.

Carver shrugs his broad shoulders. “When you can travel, we return. The Nightingale still wants to speak with you,” he says to Sophie and waves a hand to Fenris. “Both of you. She wants to know about the ‘Vint’s that attacked.”

Lurelia’s face flickers through Sophie’s mind, bringing with it a painful jab behind her eyes. A warm brown hand clasps her own, Fenris peering at her with worry.

“I’m okay, I’m… I’d like to know that too.”

“Then,” Fenris squeezes her fingers before letting go, “A day or so, and we will go. We must thank Jensen for his hospitality.”

Sophie laughs. “The fuck you think I’m covered in fleece for?”

Predictably, Jensen turns away any offering of gold or debt. “The lass and I already have an agreement.” He says, adding a crate of tinctures and dried herbs to the horse cart where Fenris sits, looking all together unimpressed. “She has paid with coin and labour.”

“Damn right I have.” Sophie says, adding a sack of fleece beside Fenris, earning an unimpressed sigh. Jensen laughs.

“There is no debt, serah elf.” He says to Fenris. “Perhaps one day visit, lend your strength to our humble farm.” His teeth flash in a grin. “Just don’t fall down a cliff next time.” Fenris scoffs as the taller man strides to his wife, Brigid passing him a basket and pulling him down for a kiss.

“He’s a cheeky one.” Sophie says, adding her pack to the cart. Fenris grunts.

“Very taken with his own humour.” He grumbles.

“You’re being a grumpy-face again.” Sophie sings, flashing the elf a grin. Fenris sighs, shaking his head.

“You tease.”

“No shit.” She leans on the cart, turning to look over the farm. Though morning, the sun is bright and clear, revealing the rolling fields and forest further on, sheep ambling around a fallow field, chickens pecking around the garden for insects. She’s going to miss it.

“You enjoyed it here.” Fenris says quietly.

“Yeah. They’re good people.”

He laughs softly. “They are. As are you.” Sophie frowns, watching Amila lead the little pack of pups towards the cart, something bundled in her arms. “You did not need to…” Sophie looks up at him, but Fenris has his gaze on the horizon, sunlight disguising his expression. “I wish you to know how grateful I am to you, for your care. It means a great deal.”

“Fen…” He looks down, their gaze meeting—

“Sophie!” Amila shouts. “I’m glad I caught you.” She says. Her cheeks warm, Sophie pushes away from the cart to meet her, bending to pat the puppies’ heads.

“Yeah, me too.” Sophie smiles, ruffling the coat of blue-grey that knocked her over, taking licks to the cheek. “I wanted to say thank you for being so kind, for helping me.”

“Me too.” Amila runs a hand over her tightly curled hair, today free and voluminous over her shoulders but pulled away from ears that pulled into small tips. “I will miss you terribly, Sophie. And I hope you will remember me.”

Sophie stands. “You kidding? I won’t forget you.” She pulls Amila into a hug, the younger woman gripping her tight. “Wouldn’t have made it without you.”

She laughs. “Maybe not.” Sophie pulls back with a mock gasp and the two laugh. “I want you to write. Tell me what you see.” Amila’s eyes shine. “ I’d like a list of places to visit.”

“Deal. I’ll send you some drawings.”

“Yes, you will.” Amila says with a grin. “This is for you.” She says, dumping the bundle in Sophie’s arms. “You’ll need something better to wear if you’ll be in Ferelden.” She glances at Fenris. “Both of you. These are old things but warm. Mamae and I made them.”

Sophie runs her hand over the wool-wrapped bundle. “Thank you. No offence though, but your mum terrifies me.”

“She has that effect.” Amila pulls her into another tight hug. “Now go.”

Sophie laughs. “Going.” She hefts the bundle onto the cart and climbs up beside Fenris. The pups gather around Amila’s feet, save for one, the blue-grey with bright yellow eyes. It looks at Sophie, wagging tail slowing. It whines, sitting. “I’ll miss you too, pupperino.” Sophie says. The cart rocks as Jensen climbs up. Carver mounts his horse. Sophie waves as the farmer clicks his tongue and the cart jerks forward. Amila and Brigid watch as they go, remaining in view until the cart takes a corner, hiding them from view.

Sophie kicks her feet over the edge, leaning back to enjoy the sunlight. Eventually she smiles. “You know… You never told me there were dragons.” Fenris glances at her, brows arching.

“I… apologise, It slipped my mind.”

“Grawls or whatever they were, wolves, bandits.” Sophie shakes her head, watching him out the corner of her eye. “You’d think-” Fenris huffs rolling his eyes and she laughs. “Just. Dragons. An actual, fire breathing, big winged, beast stealing, dragon.”

“You’ve none in your lands?” Fenris asks.

“Nope,” Sophie pops the ‘p’, shaking her head. “Stories, legends. Wise powerful serpents in the East that brought fortune and wisdom. Gold hoarding beings of great power in the West, life bringers in the South. Depending on the culture.” Sophie bites her lip, and can’t help but grin. “Actual. Mother fucking. Dragon. I should be freaking mad at you for not telling me!”

Fenris ducks his head. “It was unexpected.”

“No kidding.”

“You sound pleased, despite its attempt on our lives.” Fenris says.

“Oh please, dragon gonna dragon,” Sophie replies, shrugging her shoulders. “Running around Thedas with a snarky glowy elf is pretty awesome on its own. But a dragon.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Fenris does his best to glower, but can’t hold it in place. Not while Sophie laughs.

“Definitely not. It’s just… You’re a person, elf or no. I can speak to you, come to know you.” She bumps his arm. “Dragons are… something else.” Sophie kicks her feet. “I… fucked up.” She looks at him, following the line of his profile. “I froze. If I hadn’t-” Fenris lifts a hand and Sophie falls silent.

“A high dragon is no easy thing to face. I hold no grudge against you for showing fear, nor any blame.” He bumps his elbow into her arm. “I cannot claim to have done any better.” The cart creaks, the horse’s hooves clicking against the path. Sophie frowns.

“‘Have done’?” She twists to look at him.

“Yes.” His lips curve into an enigmatic smile. “I have fought a dragon before.”

“Bullshit.” He holds her gaze. “Really?”

“Really. It was Hawke’s fault.” He says with a rueful smile. “In a place called the Bone Pit…”

The village comes into view by the time Fenris finishes his story, a small hamlet tucked onto a rise. Jensen brings his cart to a stop in the muddy square, climbing down as Carver dismounts his horse. Sophie hops off the back of the cart, offering her arm to help Fenris to the ground. He gives her a weak smile and takes the help, wincing at the rough landing. He shoulders the bag of food and supplies Brigid packed for them, picking up the wool-wrapped bundle. Jensen joins them at the back, helping Sophie with her bag.

“Are you two ready?” He asks, voice almost drowned out by the ringing of bells and the bark of a dog.

“I think so.” Sophie says, glancing at Fenris who stares behind them, gaze focused in the distance. “Fen?”

“Look.”

A grey blur runs along the road they took, pink tongue lolling as it runs. It barks, leaping over a ditch, its fur catching the sunlight.

Sophie blinks. “Is that-?”

Jensen sighs. “Should’ve expected this.” He brings his fingers to his lips and lets out a piercing whistle. The mabari pup barks again, barking gleefully as it bounds in between confused villagers to Sophie’s feet. She barks again, tail wagging hard enough to make her wiggle.

“Um…” Sophie points at the pup. “What?” Beside her, Fenris starts laughing.

“She’s imprinted.” Jensen says, crouching to ruffle the dog’s fur. “Why else would you run the whole blasted way here?” The dog licks at his hand before bringing its attention right back to Sophie. She wracks her brain for anything anyone might have mentioned about imprinting, and comes up with a memory of Fenris slurring something as Sophie drifts back into sleep.

“W-which means?” Sophie asks.

“She’s yours.” Jensen stands. The dog woofs, bouncing. Sophie gapes at the farmer. “Mabari, they sometimes choose their owners, imprinting on them. It’s a bond unlike any other.”

“She picked me?” Sophie looks down at the dog, clearly waiting for some kind of acknowledgement beyond staring like a stunned fish. Behind her, Fenris still laughs, though now he smothers it with a hand. “I can’t just take her from you, she-”

Jensen shakes his head, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Lass, this dog will follow you to the ends of Thedas. She will be your most loyal companion until the end. Even if I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. She’d follow you anyway. Or pine if I kept her.” Sophie swallows, glancing at the pup. She cocks her head, whines. Does she think Sophie would reject her?

“I know how much mabari mean to your people.” She says, glancing at Fenris. He shrugs, looking thoughtful and ever so amused. “I wouldn’t want to do anything wrong.”

Jensen’s face pulls into a broad smile. “Lass, she’s a dog. Well mostly. We think Holt sired her and he’s half wolf so, mostly. Just take care of her. Raise her well. It’s all I can ask of you.”

“You’ve my word.” Sophie says and Jensen claps her on the back hard enough to make her stumble.

“Good.” He turns, offering a hand to Fenris. “Safe journey.”

“We are grateful for everything you’ve done for us,” Fenris says, “Truly.” Looking away from them, Sophie crouches, offering her hand to the pup.

“Alright, come here.” The dog surges forward, licking at her hand and then her face, leaning her body against Sophie’s knees in eager ecstasy. “Yes, hello, I like you too.” Sophie laughs, rubbing her hands down the pup’s flanks. “Crazy thing, running all the way here.” The pup just wiggles, sniffling at Sophie’s clothes, leaning into her hands. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?” She wuffs, bumping her wet nose against Sophie’s chin.

“You’ll have to name her.” Fenris says, stepping into view. He favours his right leg, leaning against a post as he smiles down at the dog. “Something fitting.”

“Yes, because naming things is so easy.” Sophie replies, standing. The dog pads over to Fenris, sniffing at his legs, giving a big grin when he bends awkwardly to pat her. “War dogs. So something fierce.”

“Or not. Hawke named hers Butter.”

Sophie snorts. “Okay that’s… adorable. But no.” She clicks her tongue, studying the dog as it investigates the immediate area, pausing to shake off the dust from the path. “Mabari are loyal… Smart, tough as hell. Utterly badass.” She can think of a few characters like that. More than a few in fact. “How about Mazikeen?” The dog cocks her head, looking at Sophie as if she understands she is the subject under discussion.

“Mazikeen,” Fenris repeats.

“Maze for short.” Sophie bends to address the dog. “What do you think? Mazikeen? Maze?” The dog wuffs, bouncing off her forepaws and darting to Sophie. “Yeah? Mazikeen, she’s a badass. Scares the hell out of everyone.”

“Who scares the hell out of everyone?” Carver asks, boots squelching in the mud. “That’s a mabari.”

“Astute.” Fenris says with a smirk.

Carver huffs. “Shut up. Okay, we have a dog. I knew you were alright, Soph.” He pats her shoulder and jerks a thumb. “I got us a group to travel with. They don’t mind having you two on the wagon.”

Fenris makes a face, accepting Sophie’s shoulder as they follow Carver, Maze trotting ahead of them. The group barely look at them, Carver helping Fenris climb up first and then Sophie after him.

“Up you get, big-girl.” Carver grunts as he hoists Maze up and deposits her into Sophie’s lap. He rubs the puppy’s head with a smile. “You’re going to get big, aren’t you?” He says, playfully prodding the pups very, very large paws. Maze wuffs, tail beating against Sophie’s leg. She stroke’s Maze’s fur as Carver heads for his horse. Part wolf. That makes things interesting.

Reigns snap and the wagon rocks into motion, bumping Sophie into Fenris. He doesn’t edge away, instead laying back against the sacks and crates behind them, letting his eyes close.

“Wake me when we make camp.” He says with a sigh, draping her cloak over his eyes. Smiling, Sophie leans back beside him, watching the little hamlet retreat to the distance.

◆

Fenris dozes, listening to the creak of the wheels, the horses and the steady strides of boots. There’s no sleeping like this, but he’s safe enough with Sophie beside him, and Carver close by. He can rest, ignore the ache in his leg, the chill in the air that gets worse the higher they go. Eventually, the sound of steel on steel reaches his ears, voices, commands. Sophie taps his gauntleted arm until Fenris stirs, sits up, breathing in the scent of cooking fires. He twists, looking ahead as they turn into the valley and Haven comes into view.

Nestled against a ridge, it oversees the lowest part of the valley, looking over a frozen lake, small thickets of pine and rows and rows of tents. Fenris’ brows lift. The Inquisition seems to be gaining martial strength, men and women in armour training on a muddy field under the watchful gaze of their commanding officers. Templars move amongst them marked out in silver and red, and amongst them, people. They flow through the town’s gate, its streets, crowd around the ancient Chantry bearing the Inquisition’s banner, just like the seal on the Nightingale’s letter. Miraculously they still have it, tucked in Sophie’s coat. Carver steers the cart on the winding road up to the town, through the neat outer camp. No one pays them much mind, soldiers going about their business, villagers glancing and continuing on their way. Fenris looks down at the woman beside him.

Sophie stares around them with wide eyes, lips parted in a silent ‘o’. The cold pales her face, turns her cheeks and nose ruddy. She rubs at her nose, the cold air no doubt hurting hers like it hurts his. She glances up at him, breaks into a smile.

“I’ve never seen snow before.” She says and starts to laugh.


	11. Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.   
> It's been a rough couple of weeks for me so apologies all around. Brain weasels suck very much. I hope everyone's keeping safe and well.
> 
> I also want to put in a BIG FLASHING TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter. It contains death, depictions of severe illness, and a big bad breakdown. The tags will be updated accordingly.
> 
> As always love and cookies for my betas [underwaterattribute](https://tumblr.com/underwaterattribute) , and [Amata_Hawke](https://tumblr.com/Amata_Hawke)

**Chapter 11**

As they ascend the air grows colder, sharper, piercing through Fenris’ clothes. He huddles deeper in his cloak, rubbing the meat of his palm against his aching thigh. Beside him, Sophie has fallen quiet, staring at the lines of tents arranged along the snowy earth with large eyes. She trembles, gloved fingers fidgeting with the rope looping around Mazikeen’s chest as a harness. She bites her pink lip, gaze flicking to a soldier shouting commands to a group running drills, heedless of Mazikeen’s tail beating against her leg. The puppy wiggles, big paws on the edge of the wagon, snout lifted to catch the myriad of scents on the air, woodsmoke, cooking meat, the stink of people. Fenris gingerly twists, following the path up to the wooden walls of the village, tracing the tents set along the rise and falls of the landscape, brown muddy paths carrying people about their business that focus near the gates. He hears the hammers of a smithy, swords on shields, a riot of voices and work that puts him on edge. He’s gotten so used to being in the wilderness, mostly alone.

Fenris shakes his head, pulling his cloak higher around his cold ears, gaze rising to the green tear above the nearest peak.

They’re here. Haven.

The wagon slows to a stop not far from the open gates under the curious gaze of villagers. Fenris grits his teeth, putting them from their mind as he climbs over the edge of the wagon and onto the muddy ground. He huffs, wiggling his booted feet in the thick sticky mess and looks up at Sophie, pale faced and still as she stares around them, working her fingers over Mazikeen’s fur.

“This is welcoming.” Fenris says, trying for some humour. Sophie just blinks, gaze settling on him and her shoulders jerk in a tiny shrug.

“Cold.” She says, nudging the mabari pup off her lap to slip to the ground, reaching for the bags. She passes the woollen bundle of clothes to Fenris and shoulders her backpack, and he frowns, watching her tug a hesitant Mazikeen to the edge of the wagon.

“Sophie?” Fenris asks gently, stepping closer, putting himself between her and the villagers and soldiers staring at the newcomers. Sophie’s head tilts and she shakes her head, rubbing Mazikeen’s furred head, the pup licking at her gloved hands.

Boots tromp through the mud behind them, Carver scowling at the onlookers. “Right. I’ll find Cullen and tell him I found you two. I’ll just have to follow the shouting.” He gives Fenris a questioning look, canting his head to Sophie.

“We’ll follow. A moment.” Fenris says. Carver nods, turning away, marching towards the closest line of tents. Sighing, Fenris gently touches Sophie’s shoulder and she stiffens. “Sophie, is there anything—” She shakes her head, sucking in a shuddery breath.

“Fine. I’m fine.” She says. “Come on, Maze, down we get.” Mazikeen pads to the edge of the wagon, looking down and whines, looking at her mistress with big yellow eyes. “Bubba, c’mon.” Sophie insists. Mazikeen whines again and she huffs. “Fine.”

“Sophie we shou—” Fenris cuts off, baffled as Sophie scoops the dog into her arms. She blinks up at him, a brittle smile on her face.

“What?”

Fenris smiles, ruffling Mazikeen’s fur. “This way.” He follows Carver’s path away from the traders and wagon masters towards the closest line of tents, picking out a familiar voice rising above the rest of the noise, firm and unmistakably Ferelden.

Cullen is not the man Fenris remembers, pale and gaunt of cheek, eyes glassy and terribly bright. He stands taller now, golden hair slicked back from his forehead, a dark furred mantle covering his armour. No templar crimson, no flaming sword. He turns at Carver’s approach, nodding at the deferential salute from the younger Hawke, and greets him properly with a wan smile that fades quickly.

Fenris slows a short distance away by a brazier, shamelessly turning his cold back to the heat as Sophie joins him, pup still in her arms, tail wagging happily.

“You’re spoiling her.” He says, meeting Cullen’s glance and giving a nod of greeting.

“Am not.” Sophie retorts, as Cullen approaches.

Fenris huffs and steps forward to meet the man. “Cullen. You look well.” Aside from shadows beneath his eyes, the templar’s skin is pink and healthy, a little fuller in the cheek.

“Fenris,” Cullen nods, a wry smile pulling at the scar on his upper lip. “This is the last place I expected to see you.” He says, gaze sliding to Sophie. A smile threatens for a moment before he straightens like a soldier coming to attention. “Serah. Carver tells me you’re the one sent from Kirkwall.”

“Indirectly, but yes.” Sophie says, shifting Mazikeen higher on her shoulder and thrusting forward the rumpled letter that set everything in motion. Cullen looks it over, nodding at the seal and signature.

“At least you’ve made it.” He says, refolding it, passing it to Fenris. “Sister Leliana no doubt has questions for the both of you. As do I.” He turns to issue a command to a waiting soldier behind him. “I’ll bring you to the chantry, get this done with. And,” He tries for a smile, the expression more of a grimace. “Welcome to Haven.”

Carver bids them farewell and Cullen leads them into the village, ignoring the curious and questioning stares of those around them. Fenris keeps pace beside Sophie, walking in the wake Cullen leaves behind him. Her fingers rub on the rope, jaw tight, her gaze locked on the man’s back. Tension rolls off her in waves, and Fenris’ stomach twists. There’s nothing he can do to help but stand with her, for as long as she wants him to.

Around them the village bustles, buildings old and new stacked together in an odd kind of organisation. Everywhere there are tents built on slats of wood set over the frozen ground, people parting around them like water, humans, elves, dwarves, a few Chantry sisters leading prayer, giving soup and bread to refugees. Above them all is the chantry, old, the black inquisition banner hanging beside the chantry’s own.

Cullen shoves open the double doors, leading them in. It’s quieter, warmer, the air thick with the scent of incense and wax. Hushed voices echo off the high stone ceiling, conversation pausing as those inside turn to look at the newcomers as Sophie bends to set down Mazikeen. Candles flicker in sconces, torches illuminating the interior, simple but polished wood, crimson cloth, and old stone. Fenris licks his dry lips, glancing at Sophie, worry beating against his chest. Beside her, the mabari pup sneezes, Sophie starting and scoffing a silent laugh. The dog shakes her furred head, earning disapproving looks and a few soft smiles from the well dressed men and women in the main hall. Cullen huffs shaking his head, smiling and gestures for them to wait.

Fenris frowns at the staring onlookers and places himself in front of Sophie. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice low.

Sophie blinks up at him and shakes her head, a hand pressing at her chest. “I…” She sucks in a deep breath, swallowing hard, and Fenris gently places his hands on her shoulders. It seems to help, her eyes closing for a few moments. “Borderline panic attack.” She says. “You know how it is.”

He isn’t sure he does, but Fenris huffs, leaning his head closer to hers. “You will be alright, Sophie.” He gently squeezes her shoulders. “I will be with you.” It’s the truth. The revelation comes like lightning from a blue sky, sets his heart racing, fear, uncertainty, _want_. He wants to remain by this otherworldly woman, afraid and brave, strong and soft. Ridiculous to set his feelings for her so soon and yet, he thinks of their journey, the cramped confines on the Dracolisk, cards in Cumberland, Sophie’s quiet voice as they lay in their tent. But, to deny it, the warmth her smile summons in him… Fenris doesn’t want to.

Sophie nods, her hand settling on his vembrace. ”It’s just… The noise, the people.”

“I recall.” Fenris says, reluctantly pulling his hands away. “If there’s anything I have learned about you is that you have exceptional will.”

Sophie snorts. “Nah, I’m just stubborn.” She looks down, smiling gently at the pup resting her head against Sophie’s thigh, looking up imploringly. “Yes, hello, dear,” Sophie says, giving Mazikeen a pat.

Fenris smiles as footsteps click on the stone behind them, the hard soled shoes of a noblewoman, bringing with it a whiff of sweet perfume. He turns, stepping back as a bustles towards them, the little candle on her writing board flickering, catching on the gold of her clothes and jewellery. Ink dark hair, warm brown skin golden in the torchlight, she smiles sweetly, the expression lending her a gentle beauty.

“You must be Fenris and Sophie, yes?” She asks, an upper-class Antivan accent lilting her words.

Fenris nods and frowns, glancing at Sophie silent beside him. She stares at the noble, cheeks pink from something other than cold. Fenris kicks at her foot and Sophie starts.

“Uhm, hi, sorry.” She says blush deepening.

The woman laughs softly, hiding her smile behind the quill in her hand. “Forgive me, I know it’s been a very long journey. You are Sophie Adler, yes? I am Josephine Montiliyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition.”

“Nice to meet you?” Sophie says, eyes big. Fenris sighs, putting his hand to his forehead. A marvellous first impression. He should have asked for them to rest.

“A pleasure.” He says dryly. “A long way for an Antivan,” Fenris says, watching Sophie run her hand over her hair.

Josephine smiles. “Longer still for a man of your story.” Her gaze lingers on his chin, his throat, before darting away, clearing her throat as she ducks her head, the action girlish. “Forgive me, it is one thing to hear of the lyrium-marked elf that fought beside Kirkwall’s Champion, quite another to see it.”

Fenris cocks his head, the tips of his ears warming, surprise bringing a smile to his face. Sophie chuckles, nudging her elbow against his.

“Should see it when he gets going.” She quips and Fenris grunts, scowling at her. It fades quickly in the face of Sophie’s mischievous smile. “I guess you’ve been in contact with Prince Vael?”

Josephine smiles conspiratorially and nods. “I have, he worries greatly for your well being. But first, the other advisers and I have some questions, after which we can find a place for the both of you to rest.” She cants her head. “If you’ll come with me.” She turns on her heel and leads them through the hall with unhurried strides, walking them past Chantry sisters and nobles in fine dress to a door set to one side of the hall.

The room within is a makeshift office, a few desks with smattering of paper, books and inkwells, a trio of beds set against the walls. Cullen stands by the fireplace, gloved hands on the pommel of his sword. Leaning against the closest desk is a lean woman in shades of blue and grey, a hood pulled high over her head. She peers at them, pale faced with bright blue eyes, framed by ruddy brows and a strand of red hair curls over one cheek. Sister Nightingale lifts her chin in silent greeting, a hint of amusement crossing her face at the sight of Mazikeen sitting down at Sophie’s feet.

Josephine sweeps past them. “You’ve met the commander,” she says taking a seat at the nearest desk. “So allow me to introduce Sister Leliana, our spymaster.”

“The Nightingale,” Sophie says, and Leliana inclines her head, straightening.

“Yes. We expected you much earlier.” She says.

“Though we’re quite relieved to see you both alive and well.” Josephine interjects.

Leliana nods. “Tell us, what happened at Cumberland? Who took the place of my agent?” Fenris glances at Sophie and he steps forward.

“When we approached Cumberland, the meeting place described in your letter, we were approached by a woman claiming to be Umber.” Fenris’ lip curls, anger burning beneath his skin. He can see Sophie’s face going slack and compliant, hear her screams, the fire thrown by the mage. “In truth, she was the daughter of a Tevinter magister, Lurelia of House Clavus. An ambitious family that supports the expansion of the empire.”

“She used blood magic.” Sophie says softly. Josephine gasps, Cullen going rigid, casting a questioning glance at Fenris. He shakes his head. Later.

Leliana arches a brow, crossing her arms. “You know a great deal.”

“If you’re as good as you say, you need not ask my story.” Fenris answers. Leliana smirks.

“No, I don’t.” She turns her gaze to Sophie who fiddles with the rope leash. “Serah Adler, do you remember how you came to Thedas?”

Sophie frowns, rubbing at her scalp and shakes her head. “I had a head injury. All I remember is running and then it was nighttime in the middle of nowhere.”

“What were you running from?” Cullen asks, stepping away from the fire.

Sophie grimaces. “An attack. Sirens went off telling us to get to shelter. I—” She bites her lip, shoulders curling and Fenris wants to step closer, take her hand. “I don’t know what happened exactly.”

Leliana turns away and something passes between the three advisers and she nods.

“That aligns with what we have heard.”

Sophie jerks. “There’s others here?” The hope in her voice pulls at Fenris and he forces his hands to relax, to stay where he stands. Parchment rustles from the desk, Josephine lifting a piece of paper.

“Just two at the moment.” She says. “A doctor, Yara Lamont, and another, Yosef I believe, though none of us speak his language.”

All eyes turn to Sophie. She glances at Fenris and swallows.

“Can I meet them?”

◆

Sophie’s heart pounds in her throat. There are others. From earth. _Here_.

After Josephine’s assurances of a warm place to sleep, Leliana leads them back into the weak green-tinged sunlight, cutting through a lingering crowd of people with ease. There’s less on the streets now, most hurrying out of the chill wind that makes Sophie’s headache. How Fenris can keep himself composed, she’ll never know, but he keeps pace without complaint as they follow a path up a small rise to a two-story building. Old stone and newer wood, a sign of whitewashed wood and a slightly crooked red cross swinging in the wind, a canvas-covered garden of sorts around one side.

Sophie lets out a laugh at the sight, tears stinging her eyes. “Okay, yeah, definitely a doctor.” Fenris’ hand bumps her own and he frowns.

“Which is?” He asks, watching Leliana open the door, spilling golden light into the street.

“Medical professional.” Sophie says, slowing. “Think of a healer, with a high level of medical knowledge and practice. Most specialise in a certain field but even a specialist could do a lot here. Hell, they could look at your leg, see if it’s healing right.” Fenris quirks a brow, glancing at the house and the sign.

“Perhaps, but that is not my only concern.” He says gently, turning his mossy green eyes to hers for a moment. “We do not know this person…”

“You’re worried I’m getting my hopes up.” Sophie says and his brow wrinkles as he nods. Stepping closer, gently nudging Maze out of the way, Sophie brushes her fingers against the metal on Fenris’ hands, mouth going dry. “Fen, I—” She bites her lip, trying to wrangle the words in her head. “Maybe I am, but—” Fenris’ fingers twine around hers, cutting her off.

“They are a piece of your world. It is a hard thing not to expect much of.” Fenris says, looking at the door where Leliana lingers. “Come. They’re waiting.” He tugs gently and they head towards the warm light.

Stepping over the thresh-hold, Sophie breathes in the pungent scent of drying herbs and vinegar, warm air easing the ache in her head. They are in a small entryway, the bulk of the lower level blocked off by wood and canvas dividers back lit by firelight coming from further in. Across from the entrance, another door sits cracked open, two voices in hushed conversation barely heard over the creak of wood and the wind. Fenris let’s go of her hand, setting the woollen bundle in his other hand down on a bench, sinking down with a grimace of pain. Sophie shrugs off her heavy backpack, tracking Maze as she trots the perimeter of the small room, sniffing at the table shoved against another wall, along the rugs and dividers before setting her head on Fenris’ knee, giving him a puppy grin.

Footsteps approach, the door swinging open and Sophie turns. A lean, brown skinned woman, her hair wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth, stands in the doorway, looking them over with almond eyes the colour of fresh tilled earth, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She steps forward, tough looking combat boots scuffing over the rug the rest of her clothes just as anachronistic to Thedas, grey cargo-pants, a sweater that transitioned from a deep navy to a pale violet, a shiny watch on one wrist.

“Damn.” She breathes. “You’re from earth?”

Sophie nods, just as breathless. “Yeah. You’re the doctor?” The woman nods, stepping closer, face breaking out into a hopeful smile.

“You’re damn right I am.” She says, crossing the rug and pulling Sophie into a tight embrace. Sophie blinks, laughter bursting from her chest, and hugs her back. She smells deodorant, coffee, and her vision starts to blur.

“Holy shit.” Sophie pulls back, studying the other woman. “Holy shit you’re from earth.”

“Yeah, holy shit is right.” She grins, words coloured with a subtle drawl, running a hand over her hair wrapping. “Shit.” She shakes her head. “Sorry for just grabbing you, I should’ve asked.”

Sophie waves a hand, sniffing. “No, it’s… It’s fine. Yara Lomont?”

“And you’re Sophie Adler.” Yara offers Sophie a hand and she takes it. “Australian?”

Sophie grins, wiping a gloved hand at her face. “Yeah. Brisbane. I wanna say… Louisiana?”

Yara’s smile grows even bigger. “New Orleans, born and bred.” She steps back and nods to Fenris. “Hey. Nice ink.”

The elven man blinks a slow smile growing on his face and nods his head, one hand holding Maze’s rope harness, the mabari’s back end wagging in time with her tail. “Thank you.”

Sophie chuckles, fighting the brilliant giddy joy rising in her. She wants to flail, dance around the room and laugh. She settles for rocking back on her heels. “This is Fenris. He helped me get here, and that’s Mazikeen, Maze for short.” She says and the mabari pup wuffs quietly. “I didn’t want to leave her outside.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Yara says, tucking her hands into her cargo pockets. “Cold as ass out there.” She turns back to the doorway, where Leliana leans against the frame. “You want me to do my thing?”

Lelina’s lips twitch. “By all means. Arrangements are being made for our new guests.” She pushes away from the wall, crossing the room. “Sophie, Fenris, any further questions can wait until the Herald returns.” Her exit lets in a fierce gust of cold, Yara letting out a low whistle.

“Yeah so… That’s the resident scary lady.” She sets her hand on her hips. “Anyway, uh, I like to check newcomers over, just to make sure no one’s sick. We can do that in my office?” Yara jerks a thumb at the room behind her looking between them. Sophie nods, glancing at Fenris, watching his jaw clench, metal clad fingers going still. Ah. Right.

Sophie clears her throat. “Yeah, just give us a few.”

It’s surreal sitting for Yara’s inspection, the doctor taking Sophie’s quickly and efficiently checking her pulse and the sound of her lungs. Fenris watches them all the while, face impassive, hands stiff and still on his knees. He takes his turn in near silence, answering Yara’s questions with clipped words. It’s hard to watch, Sophie biting the inside of her cheek as she strokes Maze’s back, the mabari pup chewing on a piece of dried mutton. After a quick inspection of the healing injury on his thigh, Yara smiles, sitting back at her desk.

“Alright, aside from some nerves,” she says adding a few notes to her book. “You’re fine. Leg is healing right though I wouldn’t push it too hard too fast.”

Fenris nods, glancing at Sophie. Sophie smiles, hoping he sees the apology, and leans towards Yara.

“Josephine said there was another, uh…”

“Earther.” Yara shrugs. “Earthling is a bit too sci-fi for this place. And yes, Yosef…” She spins her pen between her fingers and sighs. “Either of you speak Arabic or German?”

Sophie blinks. “A little?”

[TW for this section]

Past the dividers, the clinic proper is lined with beds and cots, a few hidden by curtains. An older elven man wraps bandages beside the bed of a sleeping child, her wrist wrapped with a splint. He eyes them curiously and Yara waves.

“Hey Marcus,” she jerks a thumb back. “This is Sophie and Fenris. Guys, this is my apprentice, Marcus.” He bends his head with a small smile, watching them as Yara leads them to a door she pushes open into a small room. It’s stiflingly warm inside, a brazier glowing in one corner opposite a single bed half hidden by a curtain. Yara lifts a hand, turning back to Sophie. “Okay before you come in, I want you to brace yourself. Yoself is on his last legs so he might not make much sense. Just be prepared.”

Sophie’s mouth dries, and she offers Maze’s leash to Fenris. He takes it, armoured fingers lingering against hers a moment before he retreats back to a chair by one of the cots. Sophie sucks in a deep breath, the deep scent of medicines and elfroot hitting her nose and steps past the doctor. Behind the curtain, a small oil lamp keeps a steady light, illuminating a small bed piled with pillows and blankets. Nestled within, is a man, middle aged, deep olive skin like old leather, silvery hairs threaded through thick inky hair. He has a hell of a face, dignified brows, a strong hooked nose, and thick eyelashes matching mismatched eyes that peered up at her, one dark, one milky pale and unseeing surrounded by warped blistered skin. Bandages cover almost every inch of skin, save for the hand holding a book, and his face.

“They found him not too far from Haven,” Yara says and Yosef weakly smiles. “Carrying a younger woman with him, crying and burning almost head to toe.” She gives him a winning smile, bending over to gently check at his bandages. “Hey man, this is Sophie.” She says pointing, and Yosef’s good eye follows, settling on Sophie. “She’s gonna try talking with ya.” Yara says, nodding to a stool by the bed and stepping back. Sophie licks her lips and gingerly sits, taking in the rest of his appearance. His skin holds an odd tinge, something sallow and sickly, his right arm bandaged, fingers twisted into painful looking claws, any visible skin red and raw, dotted with black skin. Blood and pus seep from the linen wrapping, carrying with it a powerful stink. Rotting meat, sweet and wrong. His breath rattles in his chest.

“Hi,” Sophie says and he gives her a weak smile, answering with flowing words. Arabic. Sophie shakes her head, “No, I…” She switches to German and Yosef starts, left hand rising, grasping at air, tears springing to his eyes.

“ _German! I speak this language. You are from earth too_?” His voice rasps and Sophie nods, pulling off her gloves and taking his hand. He clutches at her, grip weak, skin fever hot to the touch.

“ _Yes. My name is Sophie._ ”

“ _Yosef._ ” He answers smiling as tears streak down his hollow cheeks. “ _Allah be praised, another survives._ ”

“ _Yeah. There’s not many of us, huh_?”

“ _We are the only ones left,_ ” Yosef nods to the curtain. “ _You, Yara, myself. There were others. Many burned or wounded. Some that weren’t died anyway, sick._ ” He rasps, and coughs into his bandaged hand. Spittle covers his lips. “ _Radiation I think_.” The bottom of Sophie’s stomach drops away. No. No, no, no, no. Please, gods, no.

“Y _ou- You saw…_?”

“ _Fire from the sky._ ” Yoself points to his blind eye. “ _The missile coming down, the flash from one, heat from another, the clouds rising._ ” His right hand lifts. “ _I was in Berlin, a good city, kind to us. There was a shelter but it was full._ ” His mouth pulls into a sad smile. “ _I chose to stay outside, for others, my son and his family. You? You were in a shelter?_ ” Sophie’s eyes sting. The sirens. Oh gods, her Dad. Her friends.

“ _I…was heading to one, I was hit on the head, something fell…_ ” Sophie rubs at her scalp tracing the scar. “I don’t remember.”

“ _A blessing I think,_ ” Yosef says, staring into space. “ _I pray Allah will take away what I saw. So many… Dead but walking. So many bombs fell, so many…_ ” Sophie’s mind goes to documentaries she’s seen, recounts of Hiroshima from survivors. Nuclear fire and heat scorched skin that blistered and fell away from flesh. Some burned, some died in collapsed buildings, other by radiation or infection. Her vision blurs and Sophie takes in a shuddery breath. Yosef’s fingers squeeze hers. “ _You and Yara, alive and well, yes? Praise God and the Prophet, Allah yarham._ ” He shakes her hand, smiling and a sob breaks from Sophie’s chest. No, fuck. Don’t cry.

“ _So far. It’s been hard getting here._ ” She tries to blink the tears away, but more come. Oh gods, what have they done? “ _I hope your family still live_.”

“ _So do I. And yours._ ” Yosef taps his thumb on the back of her hand. “ _Have you seen any others?_ ” Sophie shakes her head and he sighs. “ _Perhaps you will. The people here can be kind, they pray with me, and have cared for me. You have found kind people too?_ ” Sebastian’s face comes to mind, Maeve’s boisterous laugh, Callum’s hands waving as he told stories. Amila’s smile, Jensen’s big hands holding a mabari puppy. And Fenris holding her hands, speaking softly as she crumbles, shifting closer in his sleep while his fever rages, stilling as she strokes his soft hair. She laughs, half a sob and nods.

“ _Yes. Thank the gods_.” She says.

“ _Yara sits with me a lot, she speaks._ ” He sighs. “ _And the woman with red hair. She visits, holds my hand. It saddens me that I cannot thank her. Will you? Thank them for their kindness and prayers_.” Nodding Sophie wipes at her face, turning to the other woman hovering at the edge of the curtain.

“He says thank you for your kindness and for sitting with him. He’s grateful for the care and kindness you’ve shown him. And Leliana.”

Yara blinks bright eyes, sniffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah, she visits him a lot. I’ll let her know. Would you, ah, tell him I’m sorry I can’t do more. And I’ll do whatever I can to keep the pain away.” Yara digs her hands into her pockets. “I’ll um, I’ll be outside.” She says and vanishes behind the curtain. The door creaks open and gently thuds shut. Sophie translates for Yosef, the old man smiling with damp eyes.

“ _She knows I don’t have long. Soon I will see Miriam again, and my father and mother._ ” He says gently.

“ _Your wife_?” Sophie asks, and Yosef nods.

“ _I was ready to die when I gave up my place in the shelter, Allah forgive me. I was ready to join her in Paradise. Even here I feel him, soothing my anger, my fear. I give it all to him_.” Yoself squeezes her fingers again. “ _Give god your grief. Live. For your family, yes_?” His dark eye stares into hers, imploring and when she nods, Yoself lays his head back with a sigh. He murmurs in Arabic, words soft and reverent. He’s praying, Sophie reminded of Sebastian. Placing her hands over his, she bows her head. To anyone that listens, bring him back to those he loves. Let him see his wife again. Let my family live. Let them be safe. Please.

Wiping tears from her cheek, Sophie lets out a long breath, Yosef watching.

“ _Do you know how many fell_?” She asks.

“ _Many_ ,” His shoulders shift. “ _We are so foolish, aren’t we?_ ”

“ _We are._ ”

Yoself smiles again, eye drooping. “ _May we be forgiven.”_ Sophie stays with him, holding his hand. He drifts into unconsciousness, breath thinning. Yosef mumbles under his breath as his grip grows weaker and weaker. He calls for his wife, hand jerking in hers and breathes out one last time. Sophie leans forward, searching for his pulse at his wrist, and then his neck. Nothing. Her stomach rolls, a frantic violent urge to scream and cry clawing at the inside of her chest. She stands, wobbles as she turns and pulls at the curtain until she finds her way out. She stumbles out, sinking to her knees. The air here is clean. She breathes, sucking it in and goes blind with tears. She thinks someone says her name. She can’t be sure over the sound of her heart beat. In her head, the boxed up storm of fear, and doubt, and pain tears open. She keens, high agonised sounds loud and shocking to her own ears.

A cold, wet nose presses against her cheek, Mazikeen whining, licking at Sophie’s mouth. The dog wiggles closer, into Sophie’s lap, her solid weight grounding. Sophie hugs the dog, shaking as sobs tear out their way out of her. Voices rush over her head, and strong but gentle arms help her rise, pull her over to a bed and eases her down, Maze jumping up and squirming into pace against Sophie’s chest. Fenris’ face leans into view, big green eyes wide with worry.

“Sophie?”

“They’re gone-” She chokes out between sobs, clinging at Mazikeen. “They’re all gone…” He sighs, leaning close, soothing a hand over her shoulder, and she falls into him, sobbing into his thick coat. Arms tentatively encircle her, fingers gently stroking down her back as he murmurs something she can’t make out.

Someone drapes a blanket over them, and a steaming mug of tea is pushed into her hands. Fenris’ voice rumbles through his chest, Yara answering a little ways away, not a single word discernible over the riot in Sophie’s head.

She should have known better. Should have faced it instead of pushing the thoughts and what ifs away over and over again. The hints were there. She just denied it, pretending everything was fine. Gods, she’s so fucking stupid.

Mazikeen whines, licking at Sophie’s cheek. Blinking, Sophie fumbles a hand at the pup, clumsily stroking down her back. The feel of her fur draws Sophie’s focus, the rise and fall of her breathing, and the heavy head pressed against her chest. Warm breath disturbs Sophie’s hair, Fenris stroking strands of hair from her face.

“What do you need?” He asks. Need. Sophie doesn’t know. She wants so much. One of her Dad’s hugs, her best friend, Beth’s laugh. Her damn cat purring right into her ear at three in the morning. She closes her eyes, focuses on Maze and the calloused fingers against her cheek, and breathes.

“I don-” He voice catches and Fenris guides the now just warm tea to her lips. It’s sweet, laced with honey and lavender and Sophie downs half the mug before she realises. “I don’t know.”

Fenris’ brow wrinkles, his hand falling away. “Yara told me that Yosef passed while you were with him.” He tugs the blanket higher around her shoulders.

“He told me what happened.” Sophie says and Fenris stills. “My family… everyone…” Her vision blurs, her hands starting to shake. “They’re gone. Probably. Everything…” Fenris hushes her, running a hand down her back.

“Yara told me some of what she saw before coming to Thedas. I do not have words for how you must feel, only that I am sorry.” A soft sob spills from Sophie and she turns her face, hiding it against Fenris.

“I am so tired of this. Every step I take, things get worse, someone gets hurt, or…” She wants to punch something. Scream. She’s so tired. “I’m so fucked.”

Fenris hums. “Perhaps. It’s a poor comfort, but you live. You have Mazikeen.” He says, scratching at the dog’s ears.

“And you?” Sophie asks. Selfishly she doesn’t want him to leave, to go back to Kirkwall. The thought of being alone fills her with a terror that pushes another scream to her throat.

“If you wish it. We are friends, are we not?” He says it so gently it hurts, Sophie’s stomach twisting.

“Yeah,” She wipes at her face. “We’re friends.”

The world comes in and out of focus; standing, cold air in her lungs, her nose going numb. It takes someone tugging off her boots for her to snap back with a shriek, startling the slender woman by her feet. Meryne falls back on her rear, boot thudding to the floor.

“Maker’s breath, Sophie!” She huffs, hand on her chest. Sophie blinks, eyelids heavy. Her head hurts, eyes burning against the warm light that glints off the woman’s golden hair.

“Meryne?” Her voice hurts. Where is she? Footsteps thump to the door, Fenris skidding to a stop in the doorway of the little room.

“Sophie? What happened?” He asks, crossing to the bed and Sophie reaches for his hand. He takes it, sitting beside her.

“She woke up.” Meryne says, moving to a crouch. “Sophie, my sweet friend, do you know where you are?” Sophie licks her lips.

“I… Haven.” They arrived, spoke to the advisers, Yara hugging her, Fenris looking at her imploringly as the doctor inspected his healing thigh. And then… Sophie’s stomach seizes. Yosef. His rattling breath, his sad smile. “Oh gods.” Sophie hides her face in her hands, fingers digging into her hair. “Oh fuck.” An arm loops around her, tugs her against a lean body.

“I am sorry, Sophie, I am so very sorry.” Fenris murmurs.

“As am I,” Meryne says. “Fenris told us what happened.”

Sophie groans, pulling at her hair. No. Breathe. Let go. There’s nothing you can do. Slowly she forces her fingers to relax and she leans into Fenris. Eventually she manages to lift her head, squint against the light that burns her eyes.

“I’m… I’ll…” She meets Marine's lovely blue eyes and has to look away. “Fuck.”

Meryne smiles gently. “Have lost so much. I don’t believe any of us expect you to be in command at this moment.” Sophie frowns, first at the noble lady and then at the elf beside her. He gives her a sorrowful look.

“When you first emerged, your magic…” He trails off. Sophie sits up.

“I didn’t hurt anyone did I?” She grabs at his arm. “Fen, please tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”

He shakes his head. “No. But it did show itself.” Fenris smiles ruefully. “There are some interesting scorch marks on Yara’s floor.” Sophie groans, dropping her head back into her hands. Meryne chuckles.

“I knew there was more to you, when we met.” Fingers stroke over Sophie’s hair. It’s soothing, as is the feel of Fenris’ thumb rubbing against her side.

“Yeah, surprise, I’m not from Thedas.” Sophie mutters, hands muffling her words. Meryne just laughs.

“And more besides it seems.” Her skirts rustle as she stands. “I’ll fetch you something to eat.” Fenris thanks her as footsteps retreat, a door swinging shut. A few moments pass and Sophie sits up, squinting at the small room. Little more than a box with heavy curtains to one side, walls coated in white washed plaster, an old faded quilt hanging from hooks. There is enough room for a broad bed, and cabinet and a little table beneath the window with a lamp. Sophie’s bag sits propped on a chair, and on the table, Fenris’ pack, and Sophie’s bow and quiver, whole and cared for.

“Meryne carried it with her after we fell.” Fenris says, gently easing away, replacing his arm with a thick shawl of soft wool. “And my pack. Since we travelled together she offered this room.” Sophie pulls the shawl close around her. They were alone.

“Maze?”

“In the main room.” Fenris’ gaze is gentle, a little furrow between his brows. “I thought it best for her to eat while Meryne put you to bed.” Sophie nods, biting her lip. It’s been a long time since she last disassociated, shut down and went away. Her Dad hadn’t shown any panic until after she resurfaced in a hospital bed, and then he cried, the only time she’s ever seen it. For the life of her, Sophie can’t remember what set that incident off.

“I went away.” She says and it sounds flat to her own ears.

Fenris nods, leaning his arms on his knees, his bare lyrium marked hands flexing. “It… worried me.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Fenris glances at her. “Do not be sorry for your grief. I am simply glad that you returned.” Sophie wants him to hold her again, to just sleep and… not exist for a while. She sighs, rubbing her hands over her face, pain welling in her chest. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.

A knock sounds at the door and it swings open, the excited patter of paws against the wood floor. Maze barks, running to Sophie leaping up onto the bed beside her.

“Hey, bub, hey,” Maze’s squirms onto Sophie’s lap, licking at her face with little excited yelps. “Okay, hi, yes, I’m okay, Maze—” A heavy paw hits Sophie on the chest and she falls back, the mabari pup flopping onto her front. Over the pup’s excitement comes laughter, Meryne bent over by the table, Dahlia giggling by the door. Sophie twists, trying to block the pup’s eager puppy kisses with little success. “Maze, c’mon, off! Off.” She pushes and the pup finally gives in bounding to the floor. Sophie sits up, watches Maze pad over to Meryne, and then Fenris, bumping her head against his hands until he scruffs at her fur.

“She worried over you,” Meryne says, offering a tankard. Sophie sits up, wiping at her face and takes it, breathing in the sweet scent of something spiced. “It’s sweet cider. Should help, mm?” Sophie takes a sip, savouring the sweetness and notes of cinnamon and something else she can’t name. It spreads warmth through her belly, her chest, chasing away the chill and tightness in Sophie’s chest. She looks up, giving Meryne a smile.

“Thank you.”

Meryne waves a hand, watching Maze flop on her back for Dahlia, the elf woman giggling and rubbing her belly. “Bah. It is nothing. I’ve become so very fond of you, and hearing you and Fenris lived.” She smiles, brushing hair behind Sophie’s ear. “You should eat and try to sleep. Grief is exhausting, sweet Sophie.” She bends and pecks a kiss to Sophie’s forehead and turns on Fenris. “Make sure she eats.”

“I will,” Fenris answers and takes a sip from his own tankard, watching the two women go. The food is simple, porridge, stewed fruit and hard cheese, Sophie eats while she pulls off her boot, gets Maze to settle on the bed. Fenris watches her as they eat, not letting up until her dishes are empty.

“You’re mothering me.” Sophie quips as he piles everything on the table and drains the last of his cider.

“You wish me to stop?” He asks, looking over his shoulder with an arched brow. Warmth blooms in Sophie’s cheek. The cider, she thinks looking down at the boozy drink. She’s still not used to how strong the alcohol was in Thedas.

Sophie clears her throat. “All things considered, no, but you really don’t have to.” Fenris sighs.

“I don’t think you understand how…” He waves a hand, long fingers reaching for something unseen.

“Worried?” Sophie supplies and Fenris looks away.

“Afraid.” He whispers. “I feared that it was too much. The cries you made...” He paces, bare feet silent on the thick fur rug, running a hand through snowy hair. “I saw you slip away. You moved but little else…”

“Yeah it….” Sophie says. She puts her cider on the bed-table and scoots back across the bed to the headboard. “It’s disassociation. How and why it’s triggered varies, but it used to happen to me more.”

“After something terrible?” Fenris asks and Sophie shrugs.

“Something terrible which led to problems, and it’s a symptom of that.”

Fenris’ lips thin into a hard line, but he nods. “You should rest. Sleep. I will…” He hesitates, brows furrowed. Panic jitters in Sophie’s gut. He’s going. He’s going to go somewhere else. She clenches her hands, forces her breathing to slow.

“You can stay. Or… I’d like you to…” Sophie groans. Stupid. Just… stop talking you—

“I can stay.” Fenris says. “I’ll stay.”

◆

Fenris has heard many terrible things in his life. The snap of his own bones, the screams of a child slave cut off by a knife, the great and terrible explosion that tore apart Kirkwall’s chantry. The sound of Sophie’s grief echoing in the small clinic is now among them.

He can’t get it out of his head, even now. Sophie is asleep beside him, curled tight and tucked against his chest, and he hears the wail of loss.

Her home, her family. All gone. He knows something of that, being alone, though not nearly so completely. Varania lives, but she may as well have died that day in the Hanged Man. He has friends at least. Varric, though the dwarf has not been heard from in some time. Sebastian, Orana, Isabela. He had or has Hawke at least, though it’s been years since he’s seen Evelyn, waving from the back of the pirate’s new ship.

What does Sophie have?

In the dark, he can just barely see her silhouette, her face slack in sleep. Mazikeen sleeps on their feet, a comforting weight. There’s no question of her loyalty to Sophie, nor of her affection towards the pup. Meryne seems just as fond of the woman, even knowing the truth and Fenris is certain that Sebastian would gladly give Sophie a home. And he…

Fenris is no fool. While he doesn’t dare put a name to how he feels, the fact that he feels is something he cannot deny. A stirring in his blood when Sophie is near, a lightness when she smiles at him, a spark at her touch. Simply being beside her fills him with a quiet exhilaration. And at his weakest, she cared for him, carried him, held him. Simple things, with a weight Fenris isn’t sure he can convey with words. It’s terrifying and yet, he wants it. The little smiles and iron-bright eyes sparkling with humour.

He shakes his head. What she needs now is a friend, and he will be that for her.

The morning breaks, pale and cold and Fenris reluctantly pulls himself away from Sophie. He tucks the blankets around her, bundles himself in layers and the socks she made before leaving her to rest, Mazikeen following on his heels. Meryne is off to whatever business Josephine requires, and Dahlia likewise volunteers aid to Yara. The cabin is theirs. Originally meant to house more of her fellow assistants to the Ambassador Montilyet, it ended going to Maelyne alone after her house-mates were sent on wards to represent the inquisition elsewhere. Fortunate, as was the recovery of Fenris’ pack, mended with patches of blue cloth and neat stitches.

Dahlia tells him what had happened after he and Sophie had fallen in the landslide. The beast had made off with one of the Druffalo, giving Ser Bryson and the other templars a chance to spirit the group away. Dahalia had recovered Fenris’ pack and carried it with her to Haven. The repair work was all Maelyne’s.

“To make up for her comments.” Dahlia says passing Fenris a mug of tea. “She fought with Ser Bryson, asking him to go back and search for you. But with the dragon…” She sighs. Instead, a search party was sent when they reached Haven that turned up Sophie’s bow and nothing else.

There’s warm pottage and bread left on the table under a cloth, a bowl of something for Maze closer to the door. Fenris finds a kettle, mugs, and goes through the process of making tea. He has his breakfast, let’s Maze out to relieve herself before checking again on Sophie. She sleeps still, brows creased as she dreams, not stirring as Mazikeen bounds onto the bed and settles against her side. Fenris bends, patting the pup’s head.

“I will return. Will you keep her safe?” He asks. Maze wags her tail, gently wuffing, and rests her head on Sophie’s belly. Fenris smiles. “Good girl.”

Outside it’s colder still, a dreary cloudy day, the breach a constant haze of green at the mountain’s peak. Eyeing the landmarks amongst the roofs of Haven, Fenris sets about learning the streets and alleys of the village, stopping only when he’s sure he could run end to end in the dark of night. He bathes in the communal bathhouse, dries off in the warm tavern with a small meal, and makes for the smithy just outside the gates. the streets and alleys of the tiny village. When he’s sure he could run from one end to the other in the night, he turns for the smithy just outside the gates. The weapon smith in charge is a balding Ferelden man that introduces himself as Harritt, upper lip hidden by a thick, ginger moustache. He eyes Fenris with some suspicion until Fenris describes what he looks for.

“Good. Someone that knows what they’re after.” Harritt sniffs, waving him towards a rack of greatswords, gleaming red in the hot forge light. “These are what we have for sale. If yer wanting something more specific, you’ll need to get us the specifications.” He leaves Fenris with an apprentice that politely asks about the gauntlets on his hands, and not the markings on his skin. In exchange for letting the lad look, Fenris negotiates for a replacement pair, a better chestplate, and walks away with a dark-bladed weapon with a wickedly sharp edge.

Satisfied to at his single achievement, Fenris pauses to watch the soldiers train under Cullen’s watchful gaze. To his credit, the military camp surrounding Haven is well organised, tents arranged in neat lines down the valley, cleared spaces for troops to spar, their weapons and armour gleaming bright in the mid morning light. Now and then, Fenris spies a templar, aiding in training, working among themselves, or in tandem with one of the few mages present.

Fenris’ lips twist, mood dropping. Sophie’s loss of control had been unfortunate. He’s glad the result had been a heat, a little flame, and not something more explosive. Still he hears murmurs, snatches of whispered rumours of a mage in Yara’s clinic. Sophie will have to learn, and fast, and deal with yet another burden on her shoulders.

Sighing, Fenris rubs at his forehead, and turns back towards the village proper. So much depends on this ‘Herald’ the Inquisition’s thrown themselves behind, a dalish elf and the only survivor of the conclave. And whether Sophie can come back from wherever she has gone.

Fenris slips through the narrow streets, damp and muddy with melted snow, glad for the boots on his feet. He hates mud. Cold and thick, the type that gets stuck between his toes. Ugh.

“Now there’s the Fenris I know.” Carver says falling into step beside him. His gleaming armour is gone, replaced by a warm looking gambeson the colour of wheat. “I heard what happened.” He adds. Fenris grunts.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if everyone heard.” He answers. “What do you want?”

Carver snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I remember. Snappy responses, big scowl, three seconds away from murderi-”

“Carver.” Fenris growls and the younger Hawk raises his hands with a wry smile.

“Sorry. Anyway. I wanted to come by. See if I could… I don’t know, help.” He says shrugging his broad, strong shoulders, holding up a leather collar, scuffed with age but well made. “With Maze at least, that’s the pup’s name, right?” He looks at Fenris with such sincerity, Fenris can only sigh.

“Yes, that is her name. She could use the company. Sophie is…” He rubs at hers brows again, His headache is coming back, fiercer than ever. “Unwell.”

“I heard.” Carver says, dark brows furrowing. “It must’ve been the worst news. I can’t imagine. Not really.”

Fenris hums and turns them down a narrow lane shadowed by the tall wooden buildings. “Neither can I.” He admits.

“Well, I can help train the pup. She’ll need it from the looks of her.” Carver squints in the sudden sunlight as they step into another lane. “She’s not pure.”

“She has wolf blood.” Fenris says and Carver splutters.

“Maker’s tits! She’s going to be huge.” He shakes his head. “At least Sophie will have protection. You know,” He looks at Fenris. “If you decide to head back to the Marches.” Fenris scowls at the younger Hawke, lengthening his stride. Going was out of the question, at least for the time being. He can’t leave Sophie alone. Not to her grief.

“She’s capable enough on her own.” Fenris says as Carver catches up. “But I’ve yet to decide.” It’s a lie, perhaps a weak one judging by the puzzled look on Carver’s face.

“Really?” He scoffs. “Could have fooled me, the way you look at her.” Fenris stops mid-stride, jaw clenching. Carver turns, clearly pleased by the reaction. “You’re not as hard to read as some think. I know you care about her.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “And I think that’s a good thing.”

Fenris forces himself to hold the younger man’s gaze. “I am her friend.”

“Sure.” Carver says. “Same way Isabela is my sister’s friend. I’m just saying…” He steps closer, glancing over Fenris’ shoulder and fixing Fenris with a serious look. “I think you should stick around. For Sophie at least. But I think you could do a lot of good here. What they’re trying to do,” Carver says looking to the Chantry. “I think it’s worth doing. Helping people, ending the mess Anders started, dealing with the rifts.” He looks back to Fenris. “Just think about it.”

Fenris studies him for a long moment. He rarely had hope in lofty ideals in the hands of the powerful. He knows what power does when tied with good intentions. He shakes his head. “You’ve grown a great deal, Carver.” He says at last. Carver smiles, looking all together boyish and grown at once.

“Maybe. You’ve changed too.”

Fenris finds the cabin just as quiet as when he left it, Carver excusing himself to attend to his duties with a promise to return in the evening. After shucking off his muddy boots, Fenris pads back to Sophie’s little room. She’s awake, sitting up in bed, staring at a notebook in her lap, uncapped pen in one hand. Music plays, a woman’s voice singing of thunder and rain. Sophie looks up, blinks at him, her eyes ruddy and wet.

“Hey,” she says, closing the book and setting it aside.

“How do you feel?” Fenris asks, crossing the room leaning down to greet Maze, still pressed against Sophie’s hip.

“Like shit, but that’s expected.” Sophie scrubs at her face. “Meryne dropped by, made me eat something. Gave me a couple of letters from Sebastian.” She holds them out, both seals untouched. Sitting, Fenris takes them, and offers the collar in exchange.

“I saw Carver. He wants to help you train Mazikeen. This is for her.” Sophie takes it, turns it over, fingers soothing over the leather before placing it by Maze.

“Tell him thank you.” Sophie says. Fenris frowns, studying her face. Her eyes are dull, no spark within the grey, the flesh underneath bruised. He rubs his fingers, wanting to place them over hers, feel her warm skin, and say something witty enough to make her smile. Instead, Fenris pats Maze.

“Would you like to have a walk?” He says, watching her face, hoping for a change in her expression. “There is a tavern, we could play some Wicked Grace?”

Sophie shakes her head. “No thank you. I…” She sighs, reaches to take his hand. Her fingers tingle against his, warm, and a little calloused. “I need a few days to process this, Fen.” Her nickname for him soothes some of his worried nerves, and her eyes finally meet his. “A few days to mope and be sad. Can you give me that?”

Fenris nods, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. “A few days.” He says, and Sophie smiles, sweet and brief like sunlight piercing through heavy rain. He looks around the little room and back at her. “Shall I stay?”

“Please.”


	12. Footholds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> Okay okay okay so. Apologies for the much delayed update. Life has been busy and hard but there's a light at the end of the tunnel I've been preparing for. Namely [This little angel.](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/598969919886983188/723851272457027584/20200620_204559.jpg?width=715&height=402) . This is Zelda and I love her very much. 
> 
> So new chapter finally, big love to my betas, I'm gonna go start on the next chapter. We're almost at 90k can you believe it?
> 
> Anyway enjoy, thank you for reading, love you guys bye

** Chapter 12 **

Fenris gives her time, rising in the morning, walking and then running to strengthen his leg. He eats, listens to the chatter of the people around him, and waits. Sophie does little. Waking, sitting, staring. She plays music from her little devices, eats when food is set in front of her, but little else. It seems the only thing that can pull her from the fog of her grief is Mazikeen, Sophie gently but firmly training the pup with simple commands, showering praise and affection. It gives Fenris hope as much as it makes his heart ache.

He reads Sebastian’s letter, the pages overflowing with relief from the prince, updates on Orana, Aveline, Donnic and Maeve, on the movements of what was Winnifred’s teams returning to their hunt. He pens a reply using parchment and ink from Meryne, informing him of Varric’s presence, his time at the farm and Sophie… He fills a page with worry for her state, his fretting that she won’t return to the sharp eyed mischievous woman he’s come to know. He knows it’s selfish, but if any could listen to him without judgement, surely it would be Sebastian.

On the third day, he returns to the cabin to find doctor Yara seated with Sophie on the bed, their backs to the wall, Mazikeen sprawled on their laps. Their conversation stops as soon as they see them and Sophie gives him a weak, sorrowful smile. His face grows warm.

“I am interrupting,” Fenris says, backing away. “I should-”

“No,” Sophie says. “It’s fine, Yara and I were just…”

“Comparing notes.” The doctor says, rubbing the mabari’s belly. “Cos nothing brings folks together like shared trauma.” She finishes, sing-song, and Sophie softly laughs. Fenris frowns and sighs, nodding.

“Then perhaps it would be best if I-”

“Fen.” Sophie says, gently. “You don’t have to go anywhere.” She smiles and he cannot say no.

He makes his bed in the main room, sleeping not far from the hearth on a futon he rolls up each morning. Dahlia is near silent as she moves and prepares breakfast, but it’s not her voice he hears calling his name, pulling him from sleep. Fenris groans, blinking open his eyes to find Sophie bending over him, holding a plate of freshly cooked bacon.

“Heya, you.” She cools. Fenris groans and rolls over, pulling his blanket over his head. Sophie laughs, and prods him through the cover. “Oh come on, I made you bacon. And eggs!” She sounds so pleased, Fenris can’t help but smile, even as he curls up tighter. Sophie huffs. “If you don’t get up, I’ll eat everything. And I’ll sic Maze on you. She’ll lick you to death.”

There’s laughter, Dhalia’s by the sound of it, and Fenris peers over the edge of his blanket and Sophie beams at him. He sighs, sitting up and Sophie passes him a piece of bacon, cooked crisp.

“Ah, he rises,” Meryne calls from the dining table, and Sophie giggles, bustling back to the fire. It’s then he notices what she wears. A dress, simple, but elegant, lacing on the sides pulling the blue wool close to her figure, skirt flaring over her broad hips where it falls to her ankles. Her hair is clean, swept into a braid that sweeps to the right, showing off the piercings in her ears. Meryne’s voice snaps him back, a flush of warmth and embarrassment heating his ears. “Join us for some tea, won’t you?”

Stuffing the bacon into his mouth, Fenris extracts himself from his bed, eyeing the trio women as they finish preparing breakfast. When Sophie returns to the hearth, he slips the tongs from her hand to transfer toasted bread to a plate.

“You are…” He hesitates, seeking the right word. Sophie smiles, shrugging.

“Dressed? Clean?” She bumps him with her elbow. “Woke up early, got tired of being a lump. Wanted to look nice for a day.”

Fenris hums, taking another long look at her. Sorrow still clings to the edge of her smile, but light has returned to her large eyes, now framed with dark kohl that emphasise their blue-grey colour. It’s an improvement, one he welcomes along with the sweet smile she gives him as they head for the table. Breakfast is a chatty affair, Meryne leading the discussion with gossip from the ambassador’s office. Fenris tunes it out, focusing on filling his plate with eggs, stewed apples, toast and bacon, accepting a mug of tea from Sophie with a small smile, his finger’s brushing against hers. A little frisson tingles up his arm, a fluttering warmth that settles in his chest.

He eats his breakfast, painfully aware of Sophie beside him, her laughter and quiet praise for Mazikeen as she tosses a lumpy leather ball for the pup to chase. Fenris watches the mabari pup scramble along the wood floor, barking at the ball before retrieving it with a shake of her head. She returns to her mistress and sits primly, tail wagging as she waits for the ball to be tossed again.

With a piece of bacon in one hand, Sophie points a finger to the floor. “Maze. Drop it.” The pup wiggles, ball still in her mouth. Fenris smiles into his tea as Sophie huffs. “Mazikeen. Drop it.” She says firmer, more commanding and the pup obeys. “Good girl.” She coos, offering a piece of the bacon and scuffling her fingers along the pups neck.

“I take it Carver has been of some help?” Fenris asks. Sophie makes a humming sound as she scoops up the ball.

“He left this,” she says waving it, “And a collar for Maze, but I wanted to cover some basic stuff before we got into the things he had in mind.” She tosses the ball again and Mazikeen darts after it, nails scraping on the wooden floor.

Meryne giggles. “I think perhaps I scared him off.” She stands, brushing down her skirt. “Ferelden men are so sweet.” Fenris frowns as the Orlesian gathers her plates and takes them to the wash tub. Beside him, Sophie laughs into her tea.

As Fenris adds more bacon to his plate, Mazikeen comes to sit by his feet, turning her bright yellow eyes on the crispy meat between his fingers. Fenris pops it into his mouth, and Maze’s tail goes limp against the wooden floor, eyes staring at him with betrayal. Fenris picks up another piece, and her tail resumes it’s wagging. She sets down the ball, pads over to his seat and sits.

Fenris frowns. “Sophie.”

“Yeah, Fen?” She glances at him.

“You need to teach your hound better table manners.” He says, taking a bite of the bacon. Maze licks her chops, lifting a paw.

Sophie laughs. “She’s a puppy, and I’m working on it.” She stands, passing Fenris and bending to pat Maze on the head. “Besides, she’s not jumping on you. That’s pretty polite.” She looks up at him, smiling and Fenris looks away.

“She should not be begging at all.” He says. On the floor, Maze shuffles a little closer and gives the smallest weakest whine he’s ever heard. Fenris hesitates, glancing at Sophie as she collects her dishes and carries them to Meryne.

“She’s a pup.” Sophie says over her shoulder. “She wants to eat with her people.” Fenris rolls his eyes and offers Maze the piece. The pup wiggles, gingerly taking the treat from his fingers and scarfs it down.

“This will not happen again,” He tells her firmly when Maze butts her muzzle against his thigh. She huffs, tail beating against the floor and stares at him. “No.” Fenris says turning back to his plate. A few moments later, a paw presses against his calf. Maze lets out another pitiful whine. “No.” Fenris says, shoving a toasted piece of bread into his mouth. Maze cocks her head to the side, wiggling closer. “I said no.” Maze whines. “Stop asking.”

A shadow falls over him. :Why are you arguing with my dog?” Sophie asks, stealing a piece of apple from his plate. “You fed her something didn’t you?”

“I did not.”

“Sure.” Sophie draws the word out and crunches on the apple. “Softie.” She bumps his shoulder with her hip and calls Maze, leading the pup away for feeding.

The world outside is bright and clear, almost pleasant for a tiny village on the side of a mountain. Still, it’s cold enough for Fenris to shiver in his thick coat and cloak, his thigh aching as he waits beside an equally miserable looking Sophie. They’ve been summoned to the chantry, called to await the return of the Herald.

“So…” Sophie starts, warming her hands on a nearby brazier, “Who d’you think this herald is?”

Fenris frowns, scanning the small square. People bustled around as usual, message runners flitting from tent to tent, a few scowling templars eyeing a trio of mages trying to appear inconspicuous. “I have not heard much. She is an elf, and dalish. Little else.”

Sophie bites her lip. “Those are the nomadic tribes, right?” Fenris nods. “Huh. That should make things interesting.”

“Should it?” He asks and Sophie shrugs.

“Everyone I’ve seen in charge here is human, military or noble.” She steps back, stepping closer to Fenris, keeping her voice low. “And the Herald is an outsider in almost every way she could be, except maybe magic.” She clicks her tongue. “It’d be rough even if she was. Everyone thinking you’re a sign from god. They either want to build you up, use you, or tear you down.” Her fingers worry the little rope leash she holds to keep Maze close. Fenris grunts. He can’t argue this, having seen Hawke’s rise and fall with his own eyes, the demands placed on her almost as heavy as the antagonism from her enemies.

“You are right in this, I feel.” He says eventually, a commotion down the street catching his focus. People were lining up, looking eagerly down the hill to the gates, whispering and pushing for the better vantage point. “We’ll see for certain in a moment.” Fenris says, nudging Sophie.

The commotion grows as a group appears, moving up the hill. Worn from travel, they made an eclectic group, a slight elven woman in the front, copper hair gleaming in the sun, her left hand bearing a glowing green mark. Beside her a human woman, tall and strong in black armour bearing a sigil of a flaming eye and following behind a bald elven man bearing a staff, and a terribly familiar looking dwarf with a crossbow on his back. Fenris shakes his head. Of all the places he thought he’d find Varric. With them came another mage, black hair cropped close to her head, dark skin striking against her white garb, striding beside another elf, blonde and waifish, with a bow on her back.

From the Chantry, Cullen strides forward, offering the she-elf a salute. The dalish elf in the front, green vallaslin covering most of her face, gives Cullen a cursory nod before fixing her attention on Fenris, and then Sophie. Her sharp brows arch, walking closer as she studies them. Her companions behind her likewise study them, the armoured woman canting her head to the side before her eyes widen in recognition. Beside her, Varric comes to a stop and then grins, walking over with his arms held wide.

“Fenris? The blazes are you doing here?” He calls, attracting looks from those around him.

Fenris holds his ground. “I could ask you the same thing.” He says dryly and gets a scoff in reply.

“That’s a bit of a long story. I’m guessing you have one of your own,” Varric says turning his brown eyes onto Sophie. “You get stuck with him all the way here?” Fenris rolls his eyes.

Sophie snorts, quietly giggling. “More like he got stuck with me. Poor bugger.” She nudges him with her elbow and he huffs a silent laugh, watching the dalish elf pass them and enter into the chantry. The rest of her companions disperse, the elven mage studying them a little too long for Fenris’ liking. Only the woman in black armour remains, speaking to Cullen.

“Sophie is from a rift.” Fenris says quietly, flicking his gaze over the curious crowd watching.

Varric blinks, looking Sophie over with a pitying look. “Shit. I didn’t think anyone else would have made it. I’d say welcome but this is pretty much the ass end of Thedas.” He grins, and Sophie snorts.

“So this is Varric?” she asks, looking to Fenris. He nods with a smirk, ignoring the gleeful look Varric gives him.

“You told her about me. Elf, I’m touched.” He gives Sophie a ridiculous bow. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

“Sophie Adler. And that would be Bianca.” She nods at the crossbow. Varric preens, looking at his weapon lovingly.

“That she is. A beauty isn’t she?” He turns back. “Hopefully later we can all sit down, have a drink and you can explain just how you got yourself a mabari pup.”

“Only if you buy,” Sophie replies and gets a surprised laugh from Varric.

“Oh, I like this one. You kno-”

“Varric.” The woman in dark armour calls, cutting off the dwarf. He scowls glancing up at the woman who eyed Sophie with sharp eyes. “You’ll have to excuse these two, they are to speak to the Herald.” She trails off staring at Fenris, her Nevarran accent colouring her words. “Forgive me for staring, but are you the Tevene elf aided by the Champion?” Fenris arches a brow, looking at Varric.

“Don’t look at me like that, it was an interrogation!” Varric says, and Fenris scowls at the woman. She splutters.

“I was searching for the Champion of Kirkwall!”

Fenris stepped forward, edging himself in front of Sophie. “For what?”

“To help bring peace between the mages and templars.” The woman squared her shoulders. “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and I sought the Champion under the orders of Divine Justinia.” She faltered, gaze dropping. “I meant no harm to her, or you. Or to Varric.”

“I’m touched, Seeker.” Varric says, one hand to his chest. Cassandra makes a sound of disgust.

“Please, if you both would.” She gestures to the chantry. “The sooner we hear your story, the sooner we can decide how to help.”

Fenris glances at Varric’s who shrugs and waves them on. “I’ll be at the tavern. You come find me, elf.” Gloved fingers brush against Fenris’, Sophie stepping close.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” She says.

Cassandra and Cullen lead them through the chantry, air dense with incense. It irritates his nose, even in the War Room. Fenris stands by Sophie as she speaks, recounting her day before she arrived, her journey. He only adds what’s necessary, his description of the mages from Tevinter, the Templars they travelled with, the dragon attack. Bryson and the rest of the group had survived and arrived in Haven. Scouts had been sent to find Sophie and Fenris but found nothing. They would have been too late had Sophie not half carried Fenris up the ridge.

The Herald, named Kaif, taps her slender fingers on the map laid out on the broad table dominating the room, studying Sophie with a hunter’s focus.

“If we came across others from your lands,” she asks, her accent thick and musical. “You would help us communicate with them?”

“If I can speak their language.” Sophie answers, calm and steady. “If not, I can figure something out.” The elf nods, straightening.

“Until we can seal the breach, closing rifts is another task to contend with. If you travel with us, you can help any of your people we find.” She regards Sophie critically, and Fenris stiffens. “You fight?”

“I can fire a bow…” Sophie trails off and Kaif turns her focus to Fenris.

“And you?”

“Yes.” He answers. “I will be more than glad to help uncover the purpose of these mages and their masters.” The Herald’s lips pull into a smirk.

“We’d appreciate it.” She says looking back at her Advisers. Leliana looks pleased, eyeing the map where she marked the ambush outside of Cumberland. Josephine pauses her scribbling to offer a pair of envelopes to Fenris.

“These arrived from Prince Vael. You can pass any replies to Meryne and I will see to them personally.” Fenris thanks her and Kaif straightens.

“Now that’s done,” She says, “Sophie.” She circles around the table as Cullen as the advisers file out the door. “You magic requires training.” She jerks her chin. “Come. You two should meet the others either way.”

Outside, Kaif leads them confidently through Haven, ignoring the hushed whispers and stares. Somewhere in the crowd, a man hisses about more knife ears and Fenris has to catch hold of Sophie before she could veer off the path.

“Maybe wait to meet people before picking fights.” He tells her as they climb a short series of steps to a circle of small homes and smaller cabins. The bald elven mage from before watches them with an impassive face.

“I wasn’t going to pick a fight.” Sophie hisses back. Fenris gives her a look and she swipes at his arm. “Shut up. I don’t like bullies.”

Ahead of them, Kaif casts them an amused look before heading for the mage. She speaks to him quietly, the elf nodding before turning to them with a small smile.

“Sophie,” Kaif says, “This is Solas. Few know as much about the fade as he. Solas, this is Sophie and Fenris.”

“Hello,” Solas inclines his head. He’s tall for an elf, taller than Fenris, pale with distinct angular features and expressive eyes bearing a hint of violet. Despite the cold, he wears few layers and stands barefoot in the snow, perfectly at ease. “It is a pleasure to meet another from your Earth.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sophie says, gaze dropping to watch Maze as she sniffs at Solas’ feet. He simply smiles, grandfatherly despite his apparent age and crouches to offer a hand to the pup.

“And your friend.” Solas says, looking up at Fenris. “Varric has shared a few stories of his companions. I had hoped perhaps to one day meet you, Fenris.”

Fenris resists the urge to dip his head and hide his eyes. “The dwarf talks a lot.”

“So does Solas.” Kaif says cheerfully and the elf mage laughs, standing.

“Yes, well, our Herald tells me you had a showing of magic.”

“Twice,” Sophie says, fingers fiddling with the rope leash.

“I’ll need to know more if I am to help.” Solas steps away, turning for one of the small cabins. “Come, it is much warmer inside.” He pushes open a door to the closest and steps inside. “You need not worry,” He says to Fenris. “Sophie will be safe with me.” Fenris starts to bristle and stops at Sophie’s smile.

“I’ll be okay. Maze has my back.”

Fenris nods, stepping back and watching the door close. Kaif hums, eyeing him.

“Your leg. It is healing?” She asks and he nods. “Good. If you are half the warrior Varric tells us you are, then having you with us will be a boon.”

He turns to the slender woman, studying her. “How much exactly has the dwarf told you?”

Kaif just grins.

The Herald’s weapons of choice are a pair of daggers, the metal darkened for stealth. She’s light, fast, and vicious, forcing Fenris to muster every bit of will he can to simply keep up. By the end of their impromptu sparring session, his leg burns, and he has to hold up a hand to call for a stop, dropping the practice weapon by a crate and sitting.

Kaif sheathes her blades, watching Fenris rub at his thigh. “You’ve not let a mage look at that.” It wasn’t a question. Fenris bristles anyway, irritation making his markings throb.

“No.”

The dalish woman nods, perching herself on another crate, looking him over. “I won’t press, but Solas has considerable skill and no small amount of understanding.” She stretches, arching her back and leans back, languid and at ease like a cat though her cat never stops moving.

“And you yourself,” Fenris says, Sophie’s words returning fresh to his mind. _Must be rough…_ “You are the only one of your people here.”

Kaif laughs without humour. “Your meaning?”

“Humans can be…” Her waves a hand, looking for the right word, and smirks. “Obtuse.” The smile Kaif gives him is sharp like broken glass.

“Your girl,” She says and Fenris’ hands pause. “Is she obtuse?” His mouth dries, Fenris flicks his gaze around them before forcing his fingers to resume their rubbing, easing the ache in his leg.

“No. Sophie can be quite insightful.” He clears his throat. “And she is not my girl. She is her own.” Kaif smiles, nodding.

“Do you think she can keep up?” She asks. Fenris pauses, considers. Sophie is not a warrior, but she’s strong, determined… He looks down to his thigh, thinks of the cold night beside her, held by her, the coldness that takes hold of his heart whenever he thinks of leaving.

He swallows. “She has made it this far. I don’t doubt her will or courage.”

“Then I won’t.” Kaif stands, dusting off her hands. “We’ve a week before we need to get moving again. If you’re ready to join me by then, I’d appreciate your help.”

Fenris can’t help but look at the green gash in the sky hovering above the mountain. “We will see.”

Boots crunch on the snow, carrying with it the scent of leather and oil. “I warned you, Stalker,” Varric says, grinning at Fenris. “He’s a broody one.” Fenris rolls his eyes as Kaif chuckles.

“He’s not so bad.” She says, with a shrug and a faint smile. “You want to catch up?”

“Bah,” Varric waves a hand, smiling easy while his eyes focus on Fenris’ hands on his thigh for a moment too long. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way.” Kaif laughs again, low and weary, and Fenris arches a brow at Varric.

“I should check on things.” Kaif says and walks past Varric, patting the dwarf on the shoulder. Varric watches her go and drops his smile, jerking his chin at Fenris’ hands.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I fell down a ravine.” Fenris answers, stretching the limb out. The burning fades, a now familiar ache taking its place. “It was caught on something and an infection set in.” Varric’s brows shoot upwards, the dwarf freezing for a moment.

“How bad?”

Fenris holds his gaze. “Very.”

“Shit. Elf, you…” He breathes out, harsh. “I thought I saw a limp. Didn’t think it was that.” Varric runs a hand over his hair. “Explains why you look like shit.” His grin gives him away and Fenris laughs, standing.

“It is good to see you.” He says.

“Good enough to tell me what brought you and Sophie to this frozen shithole?” Varric asks, eyes alight.

Fenris sighs. “Only if you buy the ale.”

He shouldn’t be surprised by Varric’s insistence on prying every twist and detail of his journey with Sophie, down to the very beginning. Even in the fire light in the tavern, Fenris can see the spark in the dwarf’s eyes.

“So, you rescued her.” Varric says over the rim of his tankard. “From slavers. Travelled all the way with her through blood mages and a damn dragon.” Already Fenris can see the gears of Varric’s mind turning the tale into book fodder.

“Don’t.” Fenris says. When Varric looks at him, mouth opening, he cuts him off. “Do not pester her with this.”

“You wound me-” Varric starts.

“I know you.” Fenris cuts himself off with a sigh. “Her time here has not been kind, and learning what has become of her people has been another blow.” Varric winces, looking down at his drink.

“If it’s anything like Doc’s, Yara,” Varric explains when Fenris frowns, “I can imagine. I really wish I couldn’t at this point.” He says and takes a long pull of ale.

“Nor I.” Fenris admits with a sigh. Sophie’s scream echoes in his head, her hurt clenching around his heart in sympathy.

“Huh.” Varric says softly. “You two have really bonded.” Fenris says nothing, the comment too close to the truth. Varric sighs. “Look, Fenris, last thing I wanna do is add more to the shit Sophie’s got on her plate. But it might be nice to get everything out to a friendly ear.” He pats Fenris’ arm. “Besides, with a friend like you, I wouldn’t dream of upsetting her.”

Fenris grunts, rubbing at his forehead, trying to clamp down in the irritation bubbling in his gut. ”It’s not my ire you need worry yourself with.” He says eventually. “Sophie has little patience for bullies.”

“Ha!” Varric claps his hands together. “See? Nothing to worry about. Come on. Let’s rescue her from Chuckles.”

◆

Solas is… odd, Sophie decides. Pleasant enough, inviting her to sit by the fire for warmth, smiling as Maze sprawls on Sophie’s lap. He sits across from her on the rug, folding his legs to listen, intent and patient as Sophie explains that day in the clearing, the rush of fear and outrage and heat.

Solas purses his lips. “And this is the only time you’ve been able to summon this magic?”

Sophie bites her lip, rubbing Maze’s head. “No. Apparently it came up again a few days ago. After I…” She clears her throat. “Got some bad news.”

“Regarding your home?” Solas tilts his head, looking into the fire. “Yes. The doctor Yara was very distraught when she first arrived. You have my condolences, Sophie.” Sophie nods, gently stroking Maze’s soft ears. Solas shifts, holding out his hands, long, elegant fingers plucking at the air. A spark flickers building into an eerie green flame that catches inh is cool eyes. “It is common for magic to show when emotions are aroused, though I would not think to find it in you.”

“Any idea why?” Sophie asks, and Solas shrugs, dismissing the flame.

“Perhaps a quirk of your passage through the fade, perhaps a natural inclination given ground to take root,” Solas shrugs, smiling. “Perhaps someone has a sense of humour. Nevertheless, I would be glad to help you gain control of this gift.” Sophie drops her gaze, focusing on the pattern of the rug, the flickering firelight playing on her pup’s fur.

“Gift.” She breathes in hard through her nose. “The first two mages I met tried to enslave me or kill me. Everywhere I’ve been people are afraid, talking mages up like a bogeyman that belong locked away.” She looks up, catches Solas’ gaze. “I killed someone with fire.”

He nods, leaning forward. “And so you understand and appreciate its danger. It is a burden as much as a blessing, though I do not think we should define it one way or another before you are able to wield it.” He smiles, and it strikes Sophie like he’s setting her a challenge, daring her. “Shall we begin?”

Sophie straightens her back, and nods. “Bring it.”

How much time passes, Sophie isn’t sure, but it takes a knock to bring Sophie and Solas out from lesson one. Solas sighs, rising to answer the door, leaving her to rub her head at the fierce ache just behind her eyes. He’s a great teacher, patient, rewarding attempts and questions with encouragement and answers, reminding Sophie a lot of one of her old uni tutors. It’s comforting in an odd way, familiar enough she relaxes enough to generate a steady hum of warmth from her fingers before their interruption.

By the door, Solas laughs and heavy feet cross the wooden floor.

“Chuckles, what have you done?” Varric asks with a sigh, meeting Sophie’s surprised look with a roguish grin. “Keeping her cooped up like this. Ah well, never fear, Sophie. I’m here to rescue you.” He gives a dramatic bow, arms spread why and Sophie has to smother a laugh.

“Oh. My hero.” She ruffles at Maze’s fur until the pup gets up and stands, stretching out her stiff legs.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Varric says as Sophie rewraps herself in her cloak. He grins at Solas. “You mind me interrupting?” The tall elven man shakes his head.

“Not at all.” He inclines his head to Sophie. “Please, come back tomorrow morning and we’ll continue.”

“You got it.” Sophie says. “Thank you, Solas.”

“Bah, enough of that.” Varric elbows at Sophie’s arm, “You gotta tell me about that pup of yours.” Solas rolls his eyes, waving them off. Outside it’s cold, colder than earlier with a nasty wind slithering through the houses. Sophie shivers, spotting Fenris huddled in his cloak and looking miserable. Unbidden, she starts to smile, warmth flushing her cheeks as he smiles in return.

“Well,” Sophie says, avoiding Varric’s gaze as Fenris walks to meet them. “How much detail do you want?”

“As much as you’re willing to give me, Sophie.” Vaarric’s eyes laugh and Sophie’s cheeks burn hotter.

The pair walk her back to the little cabin, Varric swiftly taking over to regale her with a story about the ever mysterious Hawke out drinking their pirate friend, Isabela.

“So Hawke isn’t the type you’d pick as much of a drinker. She’s tiny for a human and Rivaini? She’s a professional. Now…”

Things fall into a kind of rhythm after that. Rise early, woken by Maze for a jog around the military camp, breakfast after, followed by her lessons with Solas and Vivienne. She’s in awe of them, two very different people, two very different approaches and both terrifying in their own way, Solas, ever calm and wry, always seeming to laugh a little at himself. Vivienne however, skin dark like rich fertile earth, lips full and eyes that seem to see through her is commanding, more academic and formal, instructing technique with exacting terms.

By lunch, if they remember that it exists at all, Sophie’s head aches and the feel of her magic vibrates under her skin like a song she can’t get out of her head. Humming something familiar helps her grab hold, pull it back to a hush quiet that lets her focus. And that’s when Kaif takes over.

The she-elf is beautiful like a wolf on the hunt, lean and built for speed and grace, dancing around the warrior Cassandra like a shadow, fearless of the sword and shield in her opponent’s hands. At the targets, large pale green eyes sparkling with humour as she watches Sophie demonstrate with her bow.

“You’re good,” She says with melodic words, watching Sophie pace to and fro while taking shots. “Not too slow, but not very fast for a fight.” Sophie bites the inside of her cheek, nodding.

“Trust me, I’m aware.”

“And you’re new to magic,” Kaif continues, pulling a pair of blunted practice daggers from her belt, flipping them over with the kind of casual ease that could only come from years of use. “So relying on that would be an accident waiting to happen.” She flips the blades over and offers Sophie the hilts with a somber look. “There’s no shame in choosing to stay in Haven, but I could use your perspective, especially if we encounter any of your folk. But I won’t unless I’m sure you can keep up.”

Sophie slings her bow around her back and takes the blunt daggers. “I’m not entirely sure I want to… but I can’t hide here.” She rubs her thumb over the leather grip. “Hiding is all I’ve been doing.”

Kaif smiles sadly, nodding. “You remind me of my Vhenan.” She says, touching a hand over her heart. “His heart is big and gentle. That does not stop him from being one of the best hunters of my clan.” The distance in her eyes melt a little and Sophie smiles.

“If you’re willing to teach this clumsy /shem/, I’m willing to learn.” Sophie says and Kaif lets out a bark of laughter.

“Let’s see if you can.”

She teaches like she fights, focused and sure, showing technique and then drilling Sophie until she’s breathless and shaking and drills her again. It’s worth it when she takes pity, helping Sophie to stand with a laugh and offering tea.

This becomes a ritual on it’s own, joining Kaif in her cabin, sitting on the thick rugs by the fire sipping nettle tea as they pepper each other with questions. Kaif speaks about her family, her partner and children, her clan, her people. Sophie tells her stories of home, the various peoples, the gods, new and old. The history of Kaif’s people is a sadly familiar one, echoing so many other peoples on Earth it makes her blood burn and the cooling tea in her hand start to steam.

“Is it hard here?” Sophie asks as she pulls back the hot buzzing until everything settles. Kaif smiles sadly, shrugs.

“I am alone, Dalish amongst humans. A herald to their prophet amongst believers. They don’t hold much space for my gods here.” She looks at Sophie, eyeing the hammer shaped pendant hanging over Sophie’s shirt. “You have gods? Yara speaks of her’s with no small love.”

“So many on Earth but, mine are old, their people converted.” Sophie rubs the silver pendant between her fingers. “I like to think at least they’ve come with the survivors. Thor at least”

Kaif looks into the fire, stroking her hand down Maze’s side. “Tell me of them.”

“Only if you tell me of yours?” Sophie says and the elf woman smiles.

Later there’s more training, this time against the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, a woman Sophie would’ve swooned over if she wasn’t too busy trying to get around her shield. It’s fun though. Cassandra’s encouraging, patient, curious, complimenting Sophie’s training when she disarms the taller woman, always tempering with advice to improve.

“Whoever trained you should be proud.” She says one evening, kneeling to scratch Maze behind the ears. The pup has quickly become the darling of the ‘Inner circle’ endearing herself to everyone, even the unbearably proper Cullen who happily gives tips on training. Sophie hums, turning her bow in her hand.

“I think she would be. You would’ve loved meeting her.” She says. “My aunt Karina is one of the most terrifying people I have ever met. She’s a force of nature.”

“And you miss her.” Cassandra says gently, resting her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “It’s only a small comfort, but I feel you carry her with you.” She says. Sophie nods, blinking her eyes clear.

“Yeah. Thanks, Cass.”

And then its work. Writing down everything that’s happened, working in tandem with Yara to put to ink and paper those they’ve seen and lost, those that didn’t make it, sorting and cataloguing possessions and artifacts until Sophie feels as cold as the snow outside.

Coming back to the cabin is a relief, seeing Fenris and Dahlia and Meryne, cooking, eating, sometimes taking dinner at the Singing Maiden with Varric in full swing, or Sera the skinny blonde elf telling tales of some kind of shenanigans. By then Sophie is too tired and worn to offer much more than an exhausted smile and moments of attention, and it’s a relief when Fenris directs conversation around her or ushers her away.

On those nights, he insists on walking her back to the cabin, silvery white hair glowing gently in the moonlight. Sometimes they linger outside, sitting on a wooden crate as they talk, Maze falling asleep sprawled on both their laps. It’s the start of their third week in Haven, the Herald and co preparing to move out again into Ferelden. Fenris and Sophie included.

“You know…” Sophie says, gently stroking Maze’s head. “I’m glad you decided to hang around.” Fenris hums around a mug of mulled wine, offering it to her with a small smile.

“As am I, despite the surroundings.” He says, casting his gaze upwards. Flakes of snow were lazily falling, catching in his hair. Sophie grins, sips the wine, kicks her feet happily. “It is good to have a purpose. Something more than simply hunting filth.”

Sophie laughs. “Well, you were pretty good at it.” She says offering back the wine and he takes it, bare fingers lingering on hers, his eyes, big and dark in the night, focused on her.

“Practice, I suppose.” Fenris says and sips the wine, soothing a hand down Maze’s side. Carver kindly procured her a jacket for the cold, armoured for her travels. “It’ll be nice to try myself against something new.”

“Anything specific you’re hoping for?” Sophie asks and he chuckles, the sound rumbling from his lean chest. She very much likes his laugh, likes it more when she’s the cause.

“Not darkspawn.” Fenris says, dryly. “I’ve had enough for those.”

“Yeah, I was told about those. Ugh.” Sophie says with a shudder. Thank you, Varric for those nightmares. “If Kaif asks me to go underground I think I take a long walk off a cliff instead.”

Fenris scoffs, shoulders shaking. “I’d rather you didn’t. It’d be a waste.”

Sophie snorts. “A waste. You flatterer.” She says teasingly, reaching for the cup of wine. She only realises he’s looking at her when he makes her wait. “What?”

Fenris shakes his head. ”Nothing. It is late.” He says with a sigh. Sophie sips the wine, lets the taste linger on her tongue before passing the mug back.

“It is late.” She says. And they were leaving the day after next. Lazy nights like this would be put on hold. Gently, she lifts the now very big Maze onto her shoulder, the pup stirring with a little grunt. “We should sleep.” Sophie says, slipping off the crate, boots crunching in the fresh snow. “That also means you.”

“Hmph. Bossy.” Fenris says and drains the wine. He stands, rising just a little taller than her.

“Am not.” Sophie says rolling her eyes. He only smiles and brushes something from her hair.

“You have your moments.” Fenris says gently, soft smile reaching his eyes. It softens everything harsh about his face, easing away the heavy frowns and somber looks. His fingers fiddle with a lock of her hair, the palm of his hand warm, almost touching her cheek.

Sophie’s heart rabbits in her chest. He’s so close, looking unreal in the moonlight, the lyrium brands glowing against warm brown skin. Despite their new distance, seeing each other only for moments save for evenings like this, Sophie’s heart is effected just the same. If anything it’s grown worse now seeing him with Varric, amongst other people, seeing more of his personality, his humour. She misses the closeness they had while travelling, the sound of his breathing while he slept, the faint lyrium light on the canvas above them. Woman you are in trouble… she tells herself, forcing herself to look away.

Fenris’ hand drops away and he clears his throat. “I hope you sleep well, Sophie.”

She chances a peek at him, finds his warmth replaced with a sadder look and her chest aches. He’s her friend. He probably doesn’t think of her as anything more. How could he? They slip into the cabin, quiet to not bother the likely asleep Dhalia and Meryne. Fenris drapes his cloak on a hook by his futon, hesitates, fingers flexing.

Sophie forces herself to smile. “You sleep well too, Fen. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” He says with a nod, and a gentle pat of Maze’s haunches, before turning away.

The next day is a blur; Meryne stuffing Sophie’s bags with new clothing and travel rations, Cassandra and Kaif pushing her harder than ever, Solas urging her to put her magic to more use, to practice it with little things so it will come easier in a fight. Everything layers over each other forming a cacophony of well meaning advice that Sophie wakes on the morning of their departure exhausted and ready to give up and stay in bed.

Kaif is not so kind, tearing the blankets off Sophie’s form.

“You’re going to be late.” She crows in her delightful accent. Not quite Welsh, definitely not Irish.

“You’re evil.” Sophie complains, rising, pulling off her sleeping tunic to start dressing.

“Could be to a shem.” Kaif says with a grin, eyeing the ink twisting around Sophie’s bicep “That looks special.” Sophie latches on her sports bra and glances at the artwork, red knotwork around a cat paw print over a many pronged runic compass. Smiling, she runs her fingers over the design.

“It is.”

Kaif arches a brow. “Thor?”

“Freyja. And the compass to find my way.” She says, and the she-elf laughs, as Sophie starts to dress. At Solas’ insistence, they armoured her like a mage, a tailed coat made from coloured hide, tall boots, things she could move and shoot in with the addition of an armoured vest that fell to her thighs. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine?”

“Maybe.” She says with a sly smile, hesitant as always to let the outside know about her peoples. Not that Sophie blames her. Might be a world with magic, but it still has racism and colonialism. Wunderbar. “Hurry up, we’ve got to visit Harritt before we go.”

“Yes, ser, Mr fearless leader, ser,” Sophie quips, shouldering her pack, stashing away Maze’s toy. “Maze, come.” The pup wuffs, trotting over to a sleepy looking Dahlia for a goodbye pet before following Sophie and Kaif out the door, pleased as punch in her leather coat.

The sky is barely lit by the rising sun, the village barely awake beyond the military men and women already bustling around the village gate. The horses they’d use for travel were saddled and ready, the group travelling with Kaif milling around with final preparations. Varric’s voice rose over the din, the dwarf complaining about being up at the asscrack of dawn.

“Same, buddy.” Sophie mutters, following Kaif to the smithy. “So what are we doing?”

Kaif laughs. “Your bow is good,” Her smile takes a teasing edge, “For human made, but you need good knives.” She slips between two apprentices carrying raw ore for smelting, leaving Sophie to stand awkward and cold just beyond the warmth of the forge. A few moments later she reappears, offering a wrapped bundle. “Consider this a ‘Welcome to the Inquisition’ gift.”

Shouldering her heavy saddle-bags, Sophie takes it, feels the weight. Light but reassuringly solid. Pulling away the cloth, she reveals a pair of hilts,polished wood and metal, leather sheathes and belts to strp the weapons to her thigh and lower back. Pulling one free, the dark blade gleams in the torchlight, long as her arm from wrist to elbow and sharp.

“Wow.”

“Let the rest of them hold the enemies attention,” Kaif says. “Be fast, be swift, take advantage of any weakness you can.”

Sophie nods, mouth dry and sheathes the blade. “Yes, ma’am.” Kaif gives her shoulder a squeeze.

“Run if you must. No one will doubt you.” She says and brushes past, heading for the horses. Hands trembling, Sophie follows, Maze wuffing quietly as she trots alongside. She finds her horse with little trouble, bumping her shoulder against Fenris’ to say hello. He bumps back with a smirk, green eyes flickering to her new weapons before tilting his head.

“You look sombre.” He says. Sophie ties her saddlebags in place, hesitating before stuffing her new daggers into one pouch. Later. She’ll worry about them later.

“Just the cold light of reality,” She says and sucks in a deep breath. A gauntlet covered hand clasps hers on the saddle, Fenris stepping close to her side.

“That is nothing unusual.” He says, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You will be safe.”

Sophie smiles, cheeks warming. “You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

“I don’t mind.” Fenris says with a shrug. Varric groans behind them.

“Don’t encourage him. He’s already being weirdly… chipper.” The dwarf says, glaring up at the pony saddled for him.

“Chipper? Fenris?” Sophie asks with a mock gasp, bumping against the elf’s shoulder. He smiles at her, squeezing her fingers before slipping back to help Sophie haul Maze onto the saddle. Though bigger than she was, the pup was still too small and untrained for long runs alongside horses. Kaif wanted to move fast, first north to the Storm Coast and then south to the Hinterlands of Ferelden. Maze whines from her new perch and Sophie rubs her head. “It’s okay, bub. Just for now.”

“She’s worse than Hawke.” Varric mutters, Fenris’ retort drowned out by Cassandra’s command to mount. Sophie climbs up, settling into her saddle, looping an arm around Maze. She did not miss this, the anxiety tangling in her chest. Maze wuffs softly, licking at her chin as everyone lines up, Fenris and Varric on either side of Sophie. Ahead is Kaif and Cassandra at the head, followed by Solas and the white clad Vivienne. Pulling up behind is Sera, already talking loudly at the scout saddled beside her. Further behind were more scouts, soldiers, and so on. A miniature army.

Varric sighs, looking up at the gradually lightning sky. “It’s too damn early for this.”

“We’ve not even left and you’re already complaining.” Fenris mutters, smirking when Sophie starts to giggle. He offers his hand and Sophie takes it, the squeeze of his fingers grounding her. A whistle pierces the air at the front of the group, and they let go, Sophie’s cheeks hot in the cold morning air.

"Here we go." she says as the group starts to ride.


	13. Stormcoast bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh.... It's been a while. Terribly sorry about that. I have not had a good and productive brain.
> 
> I wanna thank everyone that left kudos during my hiatus and I hope this offering suits my lovely readers who have gone without for too long. So uh... Have some pining. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> As always a lot of love to my beta [Underwaterattribute.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaterattribute) And hey, if you like The Witcher at all, give her fics a look. She's a damn good writer herself. Just tell her I sent you. ;)

** Chapter 13 **

The ride out of the valley is a shock to Sophie’s system, the noise of the horses, people shouting, waving at the group as they descend the mountain. In her lap, Mazikeen soaks up the attention, a big puppy grin in place as they go, tail beating a tattoo on Sophie’s thigh. It’s comforting, distracting enough to focus on in the bright sunlight and loud motion.

As they reach the road they slow to something more sustainable, a lazy trot that lets them take in the surroundings. Spring has come a little more to Ferelden, more green in the hills, flowers and wildlife everywhere. As the sun reaches its blinding peak, another sharp whistle slows them to a walk for a riding lunch, fresh bread rolls stuffed with cooked vegetables and meat. Varric passes up an extra roll for Mazikeen, turning the pup into an excited wiggling mess.

“How the hell am I gonna keep you in the saddle if you keep doing that, huh?” Sophie asks, watching the pup scarf down her meal.

“You could let her run around?” Varric says. “She’s gotta get used to horses after all.”

“And watch you bet on her getting stepped on? No thank you.” Sophie retorts.

“Would I do that?” Varric asks, pressing a gloved hand to his broad hairy chest. On the other side, Fenris huffs loud enough to be heard over the horses.

“You were taking bets on me falling off my horse last night!”

Varric scowls. “Who told you that?” Sera laughs ahead of them, leaning back on her saddle to grin at Varric upside down. Sophie points. “Buttercup! How could you?”

Sophie laughs. “How could you bet on me falling on my ass?”

“I never bet you’d fall, Vixen.” Varric says. “Just took bets from other parties.”

“Oh my gods.” In Sophie’s lap, Maze barks at the dwarf. “Yeah, you tell him.” Sophie says, patting the pups head. Varric laughs, holding up a hand.

“Alright, alright. I’ve been told.” He says. Maze does let her run, the pup jumping from Sophie’s horse, to Varric’s pony to run alongside the group. By mid afternoon she tires enough to trot by Sophie’s horse until a scout on foot passes her back up to the saddle.

Sophie pours water into a cup for Maze to drink when Vivienne pulls her horse up to Sophie’s side.

“She’s a unique example of her breed.” The mage says, voice smooth and cultured. Her riding posture is perfect, shoulders relaxed, back straight, showing no signs of discomfort while riding sidesaddle. Up close, she’s stunningly beautiful, high cheekbones, full lips, skin dark and smooth. By comparison, Sophie feels more than a little dumpy with her soft belly and thick arms.

“Thank you,” Sophie says, smiling shyly. Vivienne smiles in return.

“I thought we should take advantage of this moment to continue your training” She says. “Better now, certainly, than in the midst of battle.” Sophie can’t help her wince and Vivienne smiles knowingly. “Shall we?”

The rest of the day passes like that, Sophie working on summoning the current bubbling in her gut, directing it to her hands with her breath. By the time the sun starts to set, Sophie can heat a cup of water with her hands and then gradually turn it into a semi frozen slush that Maze gleefully laps at while they make camp.

Fenris eyes the pup as they set up the tent, brows arching as he turns his gaze to Sophie.

“What?” she asks and he shakes his head, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

“You are gaining control of it.” He says, holding up the frame while Sophie ties canvas into place.

“Gradually. I’m a little less scared of it.” She looks down and finds Fenris’ face only a few inches away as he adjusts the drape of the tent. Her heart leaps into her throat, her body buzzing. He smells of sweat, leather and the oil he cleans his armour with. Green eyes flick down to meet hers.

“A good thing, I hope.” Fenris says, arms lowering. He’s close enough to touch and he does, brushing strands of hair from her brow. “You know the harm it can cause, but…” He sighs, hand falling away. “I am not the one to give you advice. My feelings on magic are complicated and fraught at the best of times.” Sophie’s heart sinks, growing dull and heavy in her chest. She looks away, nodding.

“Understandable.” Enslaved by magic, by those that abused it. It shouldn’t be a surprise, nor should Sophie expect to be an exception.

Fenris clears his throat. “That said, if I know anything about you,” He says, and Sophie’s fingers clench. “It is because you have a strong will.” She looks up, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before Fenris looks away, the tips of his ears growing ruddy as he starts the task tying down the edges of the tent. Sophie rubs her hot cheeks, tummy bubbling before she can brave the outside.

Kaif is waiting for her in the midst of the busy camp, smirking, holding Sophie’s bow and quiver. She smirks. “Come with me. Leave the dog.”

It takes ten minutes before they’re out of earshot of the camp and the quiet of the forest to settle around them. Here, Kaif is in her element, bare feet near silent as she gruffly instructs Sophie on moving quietly over the leaf strewn ground.

“We don’t need to be anywhere fast,” Kaif says, voice soft, taking smooth and confident steps, tattooed feet leaving no sign of her passing. Sophie nods, focusing on keeping her knees soft, her eyes up, using each foot to find her next step. Thank fuck she picked the lighter, softer boots today instead of her docs. Ball, to heel, keeping her weight on her back leg until her foot is in place. It’s slow going, but effective, the quiet allowing birds to sing again.

“So,” Sophie asks after they’ve descended into a little gully. “I’m assuming there’s a purpose to this.” Kaif gives her a flat look over one shoulder, lifting her own bow, a slim, skinny thing with a quad of arrows capped with darkened heads.

“You are not as dense as you pretend.” She says, nodding to the horse-bow in Sophie’s hand. Sophie halts, almost losing her balance. Hunting? She doesn’t know how to hunt… Kaif continues, scanning the forest around them. “I have no wish to rely on supply lines and farmsteads.” She pauses, mid stride. “Here, look.” The she-elf crouches and Sophie edges to her side, following Kaif’s fingers.

“Tracks.”

“Aye,” Kaif says, brushing away some litter, exposing more of the big and broad paw prints. “Of?” She looks up at Sophie, expectant.

“The shape is similar to a dog, but far bigger. Wolf.” She answers, crouching. “You’re teaching me.” Again, that flat look for stating the obvious. “Why?”

“Would you rather not learn?” Kaif asks.

“Not what I said.” Sophie licks her lips, searching for the words. “I’m just… There’s a lot of context missing and I’m afraid of-”

“Insult?” Kaif’s expression gentles. “To hunt is a practical skill, one you do not have, that I can teach. One that will benefit the group, that makes use of a skill you already possess, and that can serve you after.” Her lips pull into a little smile. “This task is good for worry. There’s no room for it.” Looking past Sophie, she nods. “The roots of that tree, what grows there?” Sophie twists, spotting the green plant, a curving stem with broad leaves.

“No idea.”

“Elfroot.” Kaif taps the handle of a small digging tool and nods to it. “Dig it up. Keep the roots.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Taking the tool, Sophie gingerly loosens the soil around the stem, working gently until she can lift the plant free, carrying it back for Kaif to inspect. She hums, nodding, and uses a sharp knife to snip off the stem, stowing the root in a small satchel at her hip.

“Take a close look at the stem and leaves. Learn to recognise it.”

“It’s the basis for healing potions and ointments.” Sophie gently twists the plant into a bundle, eyeing the shape of the leaves, the scent and feel of them. Kaif nods, a faint smile on her lips and beckons Sophie onward. The little trail leads them further down, along a running stream of icy water. As they go, Kaif shows tracks, what to look for, listen for, how to think. The hunt is on when Sophie spies a flash of blue and red amongst the brown and green and Kaif’s smile turns sharp.

She brings her head close enough to Sophie’s ear for each whispered word to be audible. “Stay low, go slow, we’ll get close as we can. We take one each, me from the right, you on the left.” Heart racing, Sophie nods and readies her bow, arrow in place.

They advance with painfully slow steps, Kaif leading the way over the soft earth. As the sound of the birds grow louder, they sink into a crouch that burns at Sophie’s already sore thighs, but they come ever closer. When Kaif lifts a hand, she stops, readies, aims. Kaif lets out a little bird call and they let loose, the sound of the bows startling the flock of round ground birds. Most take wing. Two do not, one shrieking as it flails on the ground. Kaif darts forward, waving for Sophie to follow, and she does, an odd sense of worry and guilt in her belly.

“Not bad.” Kaif calls, over the bird’s cries. She wrangles the terrified creature into place, holding out a utility knife. “Quick. Take the head. End it.”

“End it.” Sophie murmurs, stumbling down to one knee, taking the knife. The bird bleeds, every sound piercing her heart. Most folks never have to take a life to feed themselves. A bit late to get hesitant about that now, she thinks and brings the knife down.

Silence.

They dress the birds, a pair of black and blue grouse, by the stream, removing guts and innards and bundling the meat into waxed cloth that tingle with cooling enchantment. They walk back, a little less quiet as the slow sunset begins.

Climbing the rise, Kaif pauses, looking back down at Sophie with a frown.

“You’ve never killed anything for food have you?” She says. Sophie comes up short, looking up at the elf.

“Not outside of fish, no.”

Kaif’s head tilts to one side. “Nor a life before your journey.”

Sophie manages not to flinch, though she hears the man’s pained screams. Instead she breathes in slow, wills the current of energy to still. “No.”

Kaif’s gaze never leaves her face, thoughts and feelings unreadable. “Does no one hunt or fight?”

“People do. Many. For better or worse. Some live off the land. Many don’t.”

Kaif grunts. “That is familiar enough, I suppose.” She takes a few steps down and puts a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “I’m not a warrior. I hunt. For food and safety, you understand?” Sophie nods and Kaif’s shoulders relax. “It is cold, but better for me to think of things that way. I hunt. I’m good at it. Will you hunt with me?”

A cold wind rustles the leaves above them, carrying the scent of woodsmoke, the faint ring of Sera’s laughter. Looking away from the Herald, Sophie forces her brain to process her words. Subtext was never her strong suit outside of art, and even then… What Kaif asks is clear. She puts her hand over the other woman’s, feels the cool skin and fine bones.

“I’d be honoured.”

There’s little fanfare to their return, Kaif splitting off to bring the butchered meat to the fire for preparation while Sophie makes for a familiar shock of white hair. Fenris and Varric look up from their card game as Sophie sinks down with a heavy sigh, stretching out her legs.

“Bad walk?” Varric asks as Fenris shifts, offering Sophie half of the blanket he has draped around his shoulders. Sophie smiles, shuffling under and shakes her head.

“No, just thoughts. Things.” She says and Fenris grunts, bumping her elbow with his with a small smile. A little giddy feeling bubbles in her stomach. Pushing it down, Sophie focuses on Maze as the pup stirs from her sleep, greeting her with a lazy grin and a wagging tail. Varric makes a disbelieving sound.

“Uh huh. You and Stalker get anything good to eat?” He asks, discarding a card and picking up one.

“Grouse.” Sophie says. “Not fish.” She directs to Fenris and catches the brief smirk as he drops a few coins onto the pile. A body plonks down beside Sophie, Sera stretching out her skinny limbs.

“So, saw ya doin’ the the huntin’ thing with the bossy lady.” She starts, grinning up at Sophie, roughly chopped hair golden in the lingering sunlight and cheerily burning fire. “I thought you were one of them magey-wagey types.”

“I can’t be both?” Sophie asks and Sera’s nose wrinkles.

“Do ya have to? “ She shudders and it’s oddly endearing. Sophie giggles.

“I don’t think I can help the magic part, sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sera shrugs her bony shoulders. “ Just don’t turn me into anythin’ and well be right.”

Sophie glances up at Fenris who looked frankly baffled. “I promise I won’t. I rather like my bow anyway.”

“Yeah, me too.” Sera’s smile turns lecherous, gaze falling to Sophie’s chest. “Good for stickin’ arrows into things.” Sophie’s cheeks flush, discomfort prickling at her neck.

“Good for shooting perverts, too.”

“Wot?” Sera blinks up at her and grins. “Get a lot of those, do ya?”

“Some, yes.” Sophie says, reaching over to pat Maze and the pup rises, padding closer to lay on her lap, rolling onto her side with a contented sigh. It’s comforting, much like the way Fenris’ shoulders shift towards her.

Sera scrunches her face. “Can ya blame them, I mean…” She gestures at Sophie. “Fwoah.”

Sophie frowns at Sera, digging her fingers into Maze’s fur. “Well when they start touching me or others without permission, I get cranky.”

“Yeah,” Sera nods. “S’what arrows are for, innit? And dogs.” She says offering a hand to Maze and giving the mabari a good patting around her ears. “Still though, I can see why. Saw ya shootin’ in Haven.” Sera’s eyes lose focus, taking a dreamy cast. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Uh… Thanks?” Sophie says and Sera grins again, then turns her focus to Maze who wiggles, pleased at the attention.

As the night gets colder, the members of the party gathering around the fire to share dinner and warmth in equal measure. Varric starts into a story as they eat that changes into discussion of the journey ahead, what to expect at the Coast. It becomes too much, too much information with no context; it forces Sophie to retreat, slipping herself out from the blanket and heading towards her tent, Maze trotting on her heels.

It’s colder inside the canvas, dim and Sophie pulls her torch from her bag to illuminate the space. Fenris has already laid out their bedrolls, placing them together with blankets laid over the feet. She can’t help the smile as she unlaces her boots. It’s no bed, but it’ll be familiar at least, falling asleep to Fenris’ breathing, Maze huddled at her back. Lining up her boots by the roll, Sophie squirms into her bedroll, Maze laying down beside her with a sleepy huff. Unhooking her bra and easing it off, Sophie pulls it free just as the flap opens.

Fenris halts, blinking at the royal blue sports bra before slipping in, turning away to tie up the opening. He clears his throat.

“Sorry, I thought you were…”

Sophie stuffs her bra into her bag, cheeks burning. “It’s fine, Fen. I mean,” she pulls at the blanket at her feet. “You’ve seen me in my underwear before.”

Fenris lets out a huff, starting to tug off his armour. “By mistake.” He glances over his shoulder, and shakes his head, hair covering his eyes. “You are alright? You seemed…” He sighs, shrugging out of his breastplate and setting it aside by his sword.

“Just worn out.” Sophie says and settles down, pulling up her half of the blankets. “Big day, a lot of things.” The look he gives her is disbelieving, even as he lays down in his own roll, propping his head on his arm.

“I am willing to listen if you wish to speak.” He says, tugging the blanket higher around them both. In the dark, she can just barely make out his eyes, the faint luminescence of his markings catching on his hair. She wants to shift closer, to see his eyes better. There’s a lot she wants, if only she was brave enough to say it. Or maybe it’s just selfish. Sophie closes her eyes.

“Just… everything. Like a fast river. Hard to keep my head up.”

“For now.” Fenris says with a slow exhale. “You’ll find your feet. You have so far.”

Sophie smiles. “Sweet talker.”

Kaif is waiting when Sophie crawls from her tent, grinning like a cat.

“You like tea in the morning, don’t you?” She asks. Sophie narrows her eyes, standing, looking down at the woman that barely reaches her shoulder.

“This feels like a trap.” She says and Kaif’s grin grows as she looks up to the nearby trees, their branches hanging over the camp. Perched on one limb is a little bag. The same bag Sophie kept her tea things in. “Oh that’s just fucking mean.”

◆

Fenris stirs to the sound of swearing.

“Mother fucking, wanking shitberg, assmunch, fasta vass, bastard…” Fenris’ eyes bolt open and he sits up. Sophie is pulling on her heavy boots, tying the laces with a furious focus as profanity pours from her mouth. She looks over, an apologetic look passing over her face before she snatches up her unstrung bow and a few arrows. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Fenris blinks, rubbing at one of his eyes. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

“Kaif is holding my tea hostage.” Sophie says and slips out of the tent, leaving Fenris to stare after her. He runs a hand over his hair, looking over to Maze who yawns.

“Hostage?” He repeats. Maze gives him a soft wuff in assent.

Fenris dresses and emerges, still buckling his armour to his chest. The ground is hard and cold, but refreshing to his feet and Fenris rolls his shoulders, following the sound of voices. Solas and Vivienne stand watching as Sophie paces back and forth around the edge of the camp, peering up at a tree. Beside them, Cassandra scowls, arms crossed as Varric waves Fenris over.

“Two gold she gets it in another shot, three if her arrow just catches again.” He says with a grin. Fenris frowns, looking up at the bag, where one arrow sits caught halfway through the fabric.

“What is happening?”

Cassandra sighs. “The Herald said it is to help Sophie with accuracy. The dwarf insists on calling bets." She says, scowling at Varric who scoffs.

“Please, Seeker. She knows it’s all in good fun. Don’t you Sophie?” He calls out. Below the tree, Sophie spares them a look before bringing her arrow to her bow.

“Eat a dick, Varric.” She aims and looses. The arrow strikes the bag, knocking it down and Sophie lets out a delighted cackle. Fenris smiles, watching her scoop up her prize. She beams at him, trotting back to the tent. “You look as wrecked as I feel.”

“I woke quickly.” Fenris says and she winces, looking apologetic again as they head towards the campfire. The coals have been stirred and a simple breakfast cooks.

“Sorry. Kaif just…” Sophie waves a hand as she accepts a pot of steaming water from Solas.

“It’s one of the ways the Dalish teach their children.” He says with a wry smile. “Breakfast is placed high in the trees for them to shoot down.”

Sophie grumbles. “Breakfast would’ve been fine. She didn’t have to come for my tea.” She mutters, and Fenris huffs a laugh, sitting himself beside her on a chilly rock as she prepares the drink.

“It certainly motivated you.” Kaif says, crouching on the other side of the fire.

“It was rude.” Sophie retorts, but smiles as she’s answered by laughter. She looks up at Fenris, bumping her elbow against his. “Sorry.”

He smiles. “It’s alright, I needed to be awake.”

She pours tea for him first, and cradles her own full cup close, inhaling the fragrant steam. It’s hard not to watch her little ritua out the corner of his eye; the patient waiting while the tea cools enough to drink, the way her fingers flex around the cup, soaking in the warmth. And then her first sip, the way she sighs, tension melting from her shoulders. He savours the little smile on her face.

Sophie rides ahead, head tilted towards Vivienne who rides beside, her cultured voice rising and falling over the noise of horses. Further ahead, Varric sways a little in his saddle, clearly in full storytelling swing as Kaif listens on.

And beside Fenris…

“Those swirly-whirlies of yours,” Sera asks, kicking her feet as her horse follows the rest. Fenris spares her a frown, eyeing the arrow she twirls between her fingers. “They’re pretty elfy.”

“Elfy.” Fenris repeats, his good mood slowly fading.

“Yeah. You don’t seem all elfy-elf, all ‘ooh, our people! ” Sera affects a higher voice, waving her hands. ”City elves! Pish!’” Fenris snorts, fighting down a smile as Sera continues her mocking imitation.

“You mean Dalish.” He interrupts eventually.

“Well, yeah. They look pretty elfy-elfy, but you don’t seem all-”

“I’m not.” Fenris forces his fingers to relax on the reins, to ignore the weight that clings whenever the subject of his past rises like a ghost. “There’s no Dalish in Tevinter, none that let themselves be seen. A magister carved these into my flesh. A human.”

“Oh.” Sera drops her arrow back into her quiver and rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “A mage. Ugh.” She shudders. “Varric said they glow, right? They do that?”

Fenris sighs. “They do.”

“And you...” she scrunches her face, shoving her forward and making almost obscene grabbing gestures. “Said it was the best introduction he’d ever seen, Varric did.” Sera eyes Fenris suspiciously. “Pretty magic.”

Fenris bristles, lips pulling into a sneer. His marlins heat up, gleaming a moment before he stifles his fury down. “It is _not_ magic.” He grits out and Sera’s jaw tightens. Fenris tears his gaze away, swallows down to muster control. “The lyrium gives me the abilities,” He says, quieter now. “But I am not a mage.”

The sound of hooves on hard packed earth fills the space between them, the horse beneath Fenris snorting, shaking her head.

Sera sighs. “No magic then. So…” Fenris chances a glance at the other elf. Sera leans back in her saddle, eyeing the cloudy sky above. “You can pull hearts out from chests, right?”

Fenris blinks. “I… Yes.”

“Through armour and everythin’?” Sera cackles as if a sudden and very delightful has come to mind. “That could be useful, yeah? You could stick your hand into like bottles and pull out whatever’s inside.” As Fenris’ stares, Sera starts to list off all the things he could do with his ‘glowy hands’.

After a riding lunch, Fenris sullenly stares ahead. Varric falls back, offering a deck for Wicked Grace. With a sigh, Fenris takes the deck and starts shuffling. They’ve moved down to green hills, trees showing new growth, colourful flashes of colour from birds that riot over the passage of the riders.

Varric sighs. “If you brood any louder, the whole damn party will hear.”

Fenris huffs. “Is this what you’re here for?” Dealing out cards was a challenge but they made do, Varric accepting his hand with a dry smile.

“Well, no, it was for a game, but then the brooding happened.” He lifts his hand and Fenris grunts, perusing his own set of cards. A bad hand. Such is his luck. He discards a few and draws before offering the deck for Varric. Varric studies him a moment before taking it. “Alright, elf, what is it?”

“Nothing. Simply…”

“It’s not Buttercup,” Varric cuts him off. “This isn’t your ‘I’m Annoyed’ brood, it’s something else.” They share a long look, and Fenris sighs.

“We’ve been friends for too long,” He says and Varric’s chuckle makes him smile. “It is… I am not certain. The ride has been easy, the night was restful. How are you so certain this is not my usual ‘brooding’? Two bits.” Fenris offers his bet and Varric smirks.

“Three bits. And like you said, we’ve been friends too long.” Varric exchanges a few cards and passes the deck back. “So it’s something new. Think it’s the group?”

Fenris snorts, picking out a new card. “Well you’ve crossed out Sera.” He glances at Varric. “Perhaps at first, but they’re no worse than other companions in the past.” Ahead, his gaze falls on the two mages riding on either side of Sophie, Solas’ hand held aloft, a small prism of light between his fingers. “Better than some.”

Varric blanches. “You’re telling me. Chuckles is… well, him, and the Seeker is a pain in the neck. The Iron Lady is what she is. Stalker, Kaif, she has a good heart.” The dwarf waves a hand and holds up four fingers, raising his bet.

“Call.” Fenris says and they draw again. “I’m sure I’ll get used to them.” Varric laughs.

“Alright. So it’s not the new folks. How about the less new folks?” He asks. When Fenris frowns, Varric’s smirk grows. “Sophie, for example.”

Fenris scowls. “I do not have an issue with Sophie.”

Varric snorts, waving a hand. “I didn’t say you had a problem. Just that she’s… well, she’s different.” He pulls a flask from an inner pocket and takes a sip of whiskey while considering his cards. “I’ll be honest, seeing how close the two of you are surprised me.”

“We are friends.”

Varric snorts. “We’re friends, you and I. The two of you?” Varric discards another card. “Are weird.”

Scowl deepening, Fenris takes the flask and has a swig. “In what way are we ‘weird’?”

“Easy, elf. I’m not trying to upset you.” Varric folds his cards and sets them on his knee. “Look, you’re just… relaxed with her. Even with Hawke you were never all that… I don’t know, cosy.”

Fenris arches a brow. “Cosy?”

“Yeah. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you two were a kind of a thing.”

Fenris opens his mouth, and shuts it just as fast. He cares for Sophie, there’s no question of that, nor any that she is an attractive woman, curved and soft and strong, her expressive face with its full cheeks and soft features. And that mind, her soul that resides inside, the warmth and kindness paired with passionate fury, it draws his attention, beckons him to undercover her complexities. How different is this woman from another world? How familiar? Fenris’ mouth dries. Oh.

“I…” A feeling bubbles in his chest, anxious but glad. He looks at Varric who only gives him a small shrug.

“Fenris, I'm willing to bet that woman likes you more than as just a friend."

Ears hot, Fenris drops down his cards, and scrubs his hands over his face and forces himself to breathe slow and deep. Oh he is a fool. How often does his mind stray to Sophie? Even among friends he seeks her company, her conversation. He misses her presence beside him as they travel, the trust she gives in him. Oh, Maker. Fenris lifts his gaze to Varric.

“I saw Sera try her charms on her.” He says. “Vixen didn’t seem too interested, but I did think your reaction was interesting.”

“Varric-”

“One look and suddenly good mood Fenris is gone and we’re back to brooding.”

“I was not…” Fenris throws the cards at Varric. “Sophie seemed uncomfortable.”

“She’s also an adult woman who can take care of herself. Or did she not survive a journey from Kirkwall to Haven with your broody behind?”

Fenris glares, even as his stomach twists. Varric isn’t wrong about that. There’s at least one bruised man somewhere on a ship, one burned body that testifies to that. She doesn’t need his protection in that regard.

He sighs, pushes his fingers into his temples. “She is her own woman.”

“How long?” Varric asks.

Fenris closes his eyes, digs through his memories. “A while. Weeks.” He sees Sophie laughing, white flowers in her hair, feels her hands cool against fevered skin. He buried all of that down where it wouldn’t hurt when he walked away. “I did not know what would… I tried not to… Want her.” Confessing brings it all back in a rush he feels in his veins. It’s a relief to feel it, that sweet and painful hope that someone could want him in the same way.

Varric reaches over and puts a broad heavy hand onto Fenris’ knee. “So what now, elf?”

Fenris doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to, he’s sure.

In the evening, Sophie is drowsy, weary from travel and her practice, retreating to their tent after the evening meal. Fully aware of Varric’s knowing gaze as he draws the rest of the party into a cheerful teasing round of tale telling, Fenris carries his little pot of hot water and a pair of cups and pads away from the fire on silent feet. Crouching to ender the tent, Fenris keeps his face turned away. He remembers yesterday. He has no wish to embarrass her again.

“Sophie?”

Her answer is a weary hum, the rustle of fabric. “Fen?” Sophie laughs softly. “I’m decent, don’t worry.” When he looks, she’s already sitting in her bedroll, hairbrush in hand. Maze lays beside her, already asleep. “Hey you.” She smiles and Fenris smiles in return, heart beating hard against his ribs.

“You’re tired today.” He says, putting down the pot and cups, twisting to close the tent flap.

“Yeah. Vivienne and Solas don’t let up.” She sighs. “Neither does Kaif.” She yawns, and Fenris huffs a little laugh, pulling her tea bag from her pack.

“I did notice.” He says, spooning tea into the pot and setting it in front of her. Sophie blinks at it, bemused before turning her face to his.

“Tea?”

“Instead of Kaif stealing your breakfast, we’ll share a cup now.” Fenris starts unbuckling his armour.

“Even if the caffeine keeps me up?” There’s laughter in her voice but no rebuke and when Fenris is done stripping off the metal and leather her hair is brushed and loosely braided, and she’s pouring tea through a strainer into each cup. She offers him one as he sits, smiling, iron-bright eyes meeting his. “Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

Sweet. A simple word but the effect, it warms him better than the wood cup in his hands. Sweet was not something Fenris ever thought he could be. He ducks his head, inhaling the scent of the brew. “It seemed a good idea.” He says and they sound clumsy to his own ears. Bah.

“It is.” Sophie touches a hand to his knee, fingertips hesitant at first. “I wanted to ask if you’re okay?” Fenris blinks, looking up. “I heard your voice, it’s” her lips quirk. “Distinct, even if the words weren’t.”

Fenris looks away, ears burning. “I…” He huffs. “Sera is…”

Sophie grins. “Unique. She kinda reminds me of me about ten years ago. I didn’t really know how to… Talk like other people.”

“That’s a surprise,” Fenris murmurs. His gaze falls to her fingers, still against his knee. He reaches out, folds her fingers into her own. Sophie starts, inhaling sharply, but she doesn't pull away. When he looks, her cheeks are pink, eyes wide, but she smiles so gently it hurts.

“Shouldn’t be. I’m weird here and at home.” Sophie says, voice a gentle murmur.

“Something we seem to have in common.” Fenris rubs his thumb over the back of her fingers. “Being unusual.”

“No kidding.” Sophie says and sips her tea. She sighs, fingers squeezing his for a moment. “You didn’t answer my question though, I noticed.”

Fenris laughs. “I am. Thank you.” Sophie nods and then breaks out into another yawn. Reluctantly, he lets her fingers go. “Drink your tea. You should sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, bossy man.” Sophie grumbles, flashing a cheeky smile at him as she lifts her cup.

He holds onto that smile. Selfishly, possessively, even as they lay down for sleep in their separate bedrolls. Listening to her breathing, Fenris makes up his mind.

The problem now is Fenris has no idea how to go about courting someone. Normally he’d ask Hawke first, Evelyne being a constant source of dependable advice without judgement. Varric though is not such a poor second choice.

The dwarf looks up at him from the back of his pony with no small amount of surprise and mirth when Fenris brings it up.

“Figured you’d keep being all cagey about it for a while longer.” He says with a slow grin, clearly relishing the whole proposition. Fenris rolls his eyes. There were downsides to asking Varric.

“Do not mock me, dwarf, not on this.” He says, voice clipped, scanning the tree lined slopes on either side of the unpaved road, the path worn lower and lower by travel and yearly snow. The day was warmer and clear but that was little reason to ignore the risks of their travel.

Varric snorts. “Didn’t even cross my mind. For once.” He lets out a small ‘huh’ and flashes a disarming grin. “That’s how close we are.”

“I’m touched, dwarf.” Fenris says. His eyes catch a flicker of something bright up to the left. No movement but the sway of leaves in the light breeze, but his heart picks up pace.

“So you should be, elf.” Varric says eyeing him, and after a pause, rolls his broad shoulders, flexing his fingers. “I don’t hold back for just anyone.” He flicks his gaze forward to where Sophie rides beside Kaif, Cassandra and Solas just behind them.

There’s no time to warn them, a flash of movement, Kaif crying out in pain and dark, bony limbed nightmares spring from the earth. Horses scream in panic and Cassandra’s voice rises in challenge. Fenris bares his teeth, leaping from the back of his horse. His markings blaze into life, lending strength and speed as he hits the ground running. The terrors are fast, shades flicker through the group disrupting any solid defense and rage demons stir the horses into a screaming panic. There’s no time to do more than fight, Fenris and Cassandra falling into step.

So much like Aveline and yet so very different, the Seeker fights with unyielding grace, wielding her sword and shield in a dance backed by constant momentum. It’d be a joy to watch if they were not desperately trying to cover Kaif on her way up the slope, Solas and Vivienne attempting to beat them back with magic that prickles and pulls at his skin.

In the back of his mind, Fenris fears. Arrows fall on the demons, the familiar sound of Bianca a comfort, Sera shouting insults. But Sophie? He can’t spare a moment to look, Cassandra barking directions as they struggle towards the flickering green rift.

“Cover the Herald!” The Seeker shouts, deflecting a terror’s claws with her shield. “She can close the rift.” Fenris nods, glancing ahead, ducking the flaming arm of a rage demon. They’ve reached the peak of the slope, the rift itself flickering behind a cluster of burned and broken trees. It wasn’t far. Just behind, Kaif’s blades flashed as she carved a long line down the side of the same beast and slipped out of reach behind a sudden icy wall, summoned by Vivienne. She gave Fenris a nod, gaze flicking towards the rift as if to say _I’ll cover you._ He let out a sharp breath. Alright.

Fenris picks a place ahead of them and reaches for the buzzing power tied into his skin. His markings flare, burning and tight and he charges forward with a shout, riding the burn forward, clearing the way. Ice and fire chases after him, keeping the shades back. The way open, Kaif races past for the rift, Cassandra close behind. Fenris keeps moving, cutting down anything that got too close, holding the path for the rest to move up the slope. When he sees Sophie dart past, alive and whole, something tight in him lets go. Guarding their backs, Fenris follows the group to the rift, the flickering green tear in the air raising all the hairs on his head.

With Kaif this close, the rift pulses, the sound of it a physical sensation like rough stone scraping across his skin. The clearing is lit by the sickly green glow, flashes of flame and conjured barriers painting shifting shadows on the ground. Shades dance around the edge, fleeing from magic and arrows alike. Cassandra bashes at the front of a hobbling terror, ending it with a final stroke of her blade. Gripping his sword, Fenris pivots, stepping out the reach of claws and strikes with the hilt, once, twice, ending it with a spinning slash.

There’s a shout, Kaif thrusting her left hand towards the rift and a tendril of energy latches onto the mark on her palm. The air thickens, pressing against his eyes, his ears, the lyrium in his skin. A short ways away, Sophie cries out, clamping a hand over her ear, flinching away from the building noise. The rift gathers tight, condensing smaller and smaller until it releases, the pressure breaking, dissipating in a shockwave that leaves Fenris shaking his head, wobbling towards Sophie.

She groans, working her jaw and tugging at her ear lobes. She gives a brief distracted smile to him, gaze sweeping over him before she scans the clearing. Fenris looks her over, gingerly reaching to pluck a leaf from her hair. The rest of the group shake off the after effects a little faster, Varric picking up bolts and arrows as he circles the clearing, coming towards them.

“You get used to it,” He shouts, perhaps a little louder than needed, making Sophie flinch. Varric gives her a sheepish look and offers her a handful of her own arrows back. “Usually we spot the rifts before we land on top of ‘em.”

“The Scouts didn’t report this one,” Cassandra declares, a tight frown on her face. She cleans her blade with a rag, eyeing the broken and blasted trees around the clearing, now splattered with ichor and the tell tale signs of offensive magic: shards of ice misting in the gentle sunlight, scorched rock and earth. His lip curls.

“It is likely a new one.” Solas answers, touching the earth below where the rift had been.

“That’s… Concerning?” Sophie says and blinks up at Fenris. “It’s not just me, that sound’s concerning, right?”

“It could have been missed,” Solas says giving a smile he perhaps thought was reassuring, but to Fenris seemed a little patronising. “Or perhaps new. We don’t know yet the repercussions of the rifts.” The apostate turns away and misses the momentary wrinkle of Sophie’s nose before she bends to start collecting the scattered arrows, or what was left of them.

The group gathers back with the horses, Maze whining and wiggling where Sophie left her lead looped on an exposed root. Sophie coos gently, bending to pet the hound with firm hands.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m okay, we’re okay, little love, we’re okay.” Though not aimed at him, the words send a little flush to Fenris’ ears and he clears his throat awkwardly as he crouches beside her.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice soft. Sophie’s eyes are still big and dark when she looks at him and shrugs.

“That sucked.”

“It did,” Fenris pets Maze, the pup licking at his gloved palm, sniffing at him with worry. “I think you did very well,” He says, willing his voice to hold steady. “Demons are not an easy foe.”

“Is that what they were?” Sophie says and sighs, rubbing a hand over her hair, mussing it a little more. “Is that why I felt so…”

“Afraid?” Fenris’ lips quirk. “They have that effect.”

“Wunderbar.” Sophie mutters, rising.

There’s little trouble for the rest of the day, cheer returning only when they find a suitable place to camp, tucked atop a hill with a clear view of the road ahead. While Sophie takes her evening lessons with Madame de Fer, Fenris cleans his blade and tends to his armour, raises their tent, collects fuel for the fires. Busy work. All the while, he thinks, ponders over future possibilities, and watches. Sophie doesn’t respond to Sera’s flirting with interest. She laughs, jokes, but eases the other’s arm from her knee, shows the same easy affection with Kaif as the pair work to repair and re-make their arrows.

He makes his decision the next evening, as Sophie giggles helplessly over an impossibly bawdy tale of Sera’s, leaning into Fenris for support. He will try. And if she holds no interest, he will remain her friend.

Their arrival at the Storm Coast is celebrated with rain. It pours, heavy and constant, seeming through his layers of clothing to leech the warm from his limbs. By the time they arrive at the advance camp, he’s shivering, miserable, and grateful for the canvas shelter and burning braziers. Sophie huddles by him, rubbing Siggy down with a dry cloth. She’s smiling, cheerful despite the cold making her hands shake and he wants nothing more than to bundle her close and feel her warmth.

That particular revelation distracts him from the plans being discussed, heat creeping down his neck.

“Can we expect any trouble here beyond the presence of rifts?” Cassandra is asking. Scout Harding, a freckled, ginger-haired dwarf grimaces.

“I’ve lost some scouts further a ways North of here, good people.” She levels Kaif a strange look, uncertain and a little sheepish. “Though I don’t think it’s anything you won’t be able to handle.” Harding pauses. “There’s been sightings of a giant however. Just the one.”

Beside Fenris, Sophie chokes on a piece of salted beef. “Seriously?” she asks him under her breath, glancing upwards. He shrugs, touches his hand to her arm.

“It may have moved on.” He murmurs. Across the group, Varric catches his eye and raises a brow, smirking. Fenris shakes his head, bringing his focus back to the discussion.

“And the mercenaries?” Kaif asks, hands held out to the fire.

“A ways down the beach.” Harding says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Told us to send you that way when you’re ready.” Kaif nods, running a hand through her coppery hair. She casts her gaze around the group.

“Ready for another walk?” She asks with a grin. Over Sera’s groan, and Varric’s muttering, Sophie gives a broad, slightly manic grin.

“Yaaay,” She intones quietly, patting Fenris’ shoulder. “New friends.”

The path they take down to the rocky beach is slippery, and narrow. Fenris steps carefully, glad for his bare feet on the slick stone and grass. The Waking sea roars with the storm overhead, forcing the group to shout to be heard.

“We coulda waited an hour!” Varric shouts from behind, swearing as he slips.

“And miss the show?” Sophie wobbles a moment and catches herself on a boulder, a grin flashing over her face. Fenris smiles to himself, gingerly climbing down a steep, waterworn path until his feet touch cold wet sand, tasting salt on his lips. Kaif leads them closer to the waterfront, down the gradual slope of sand until the flicker of movement catches Fenris’ eye.

Further down the beach is the band of mercenaries, little flashes of light revealing the presence of mages. Frowning, Fenris shakes off rainwater dripping from his hair, falling in as Kaif leads the group towards the skirmish. As they get closer, Fenris can pick out each side, Tevene soldiers and mages against an eclectic mix. They’re bold, working together as a unit, switching from a hasty defence to aggressive attack that pressed back soldiers in tevinter armour.

Kaif scowls through the rain, unsheathing the blades from her back. “Weapons! We’re lending a hand.”

“Doesn’t look like they need it,” Varric calls out, readying Bianca. Leading the group from the front, roaring in challenge is a kossith man, horned, grey skin shining in the rain, wielding a great axe with ease. Kaif barks out a laugh and slips forward into the gloom. Blade in hand, Fenris shakes the rain from his eyes, and advances beside Cassandra. Solas and Vivienne take their places on either side of the group, Sera and Varric falling back.

Maze lets out a howl, bolting towards the fray and after movement Sophie’s voice follows.

“Eat a dick!” She flashes Fenris a fierce little smile. Choking down a laugh, Fenris draws his sword, lifts it in salute and turns, charging into the fray.

The warriors sweep down into battle, joining the fray on either side of the massive kossith who shoots them a broad grin that went all the way up to his single eye.

“Took you long enough!” The Iron Bull shouts, weaving around a soldier with surprising speed for his broad size. Fenris takes the opening he leaves behind, driving his blade through the gaps in the tevene soldier’s armour, kicking the body into his fellows.

“The rain held us up!” Cassandra shout’s, blocking a spray of arrows with her shield. A scream reveals Kaif’s work, the elf a barely seen figure in the semi-dark. The Iron Bull man laughs again.

“More fun for us!” He bellows. The rest of the fight is short and brutal, the mercenaries taking the brunt of the attack, the Inquisition mopping up the rest, cutting down ranged support, hamstringing their attempts to retreat. In the midst of it, Fenris sees Sophie darting out the way of a fireball, vaulting over a half buried tree trunk and twisting to loose an arrow behind her. A blindingly bright bolt of light flies from her bow, striking a tevene mage in the chest with a crack of thunder that echoes in Fenris’ chest.

It tugs at him, sharp and insistent and _hers_ and wades through the emptying field towards her. She pants, arrow at the ready, loosing it at a foe that ducks out the way, only to be cut down by one of the mercenaries, a lean, tanned young man with cropped hair and heavy armour. Glancing over his shoulder and seeing only their group and the mercenaries left, Fenris lets out a slow breath, waves at Sophie. She nods, sags against the weather-worn trunk of the long dead tree, breathing hard, cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you alright?” He asks. Sophie lifts her head, pauses and shrugs.

“Cold.” She says, eyes on the crashing waves. “Wet. Not used to this still.” She says, just audible over the rain and water. Nodding, Fenris offers his hand and Sophie rises to meet him. He tugs her close as if to protect her from the wind and ends up curling his arm around her shoulders as Sophie leans against him and shakes.

“I hope you never will be.” Fenris murmurs and she lets out a bitter laugh.

“You and me both.” Sophie brushes back wet hair from her face and peers up at him. “You’ve got red on you.”

“What?” Fenris asks. Sophie laughs, rubs her thumb over his cheek.

“Line from a story. You’re fine.” She says, fingers lingering on his chest. Sophie pinks and steps away calling for Maze, leaving a chill behind, and Fenris’ heart hopeful in his chest. Cherishing the warmth left behind, he follows the rest, gathering a small way from where Kaif speaks with the great kossith, his voice a distant rumble.

“So… He’s big.” Sera says. “I wonder what the women are like.” She says to Sophie, nudging her with a thin elbow. Sophie snorts.

“Big, most like.” She says dryly. Behind then, Cassandra grunts, flicking her gaze upwards.

“Settle down, Buttercup.” Varric says, shaking rainwater from his gloves. “Maybe save that particular topic once we’re not about to catch a cold.” Fenris softly laughs. The mercenary crew are in high spirits, cheering regardless of a few injuries. The armoured man, with short cropped hair approaches Kaif and the Iron Bull.

A few moments later, Kaif breaks away, returning to the group.

“And?” Solas asks.

“The Iron Bull wants to work with us. He has connections we can use though…” She frowns. “Cass, Solas, come with me.” Kaif says, beckoning. “We’ll head back to camp soon. Get out of this rain.”

“Finally.” Varric mutters, setting himself down on a rock, beside the ever regal Vivienne.

“At least we’re moderately clean.” Sophie says. Maze barks, chasing gulls along the crashing waves, sea water washing blood off her fur..

“You call this clean?” Varric asks and Sophie cackles.

“Moderately, I said moderately!”

“Fancy pants just misses baths.” Sera teases, slinging an arm around Sophie’s waist.

“Fucking a.” She jokes back, grinning at Maze’s play. “And hot showers. Best thing after getting caught in the rain. Like your own little waterfall.” Sophie says, turning wistful. Could be nice, Fenris thinks. Sera’s nose wrinkles.

“Sounds weird.” She says,

“You’re weird.” Sophie replies.

“You’re weirder.” Sera retorts, jabbing at Sophie. The woman darts away laughing. Vivienne shakes her head, hiding a smile behind her fingers.

“I think that’s to be expected, otherworlder and all.” She says. Sophie shrugs, spinning her glaive in lazy circles.

“What’s expected?” Cassandra asks, frowning darkly, shoulders stiff.

“My being weird.” Sophie answers.

“What happened?” Fenris asks. Cassandra’s frown deepens, and she shakes her head.

“I hired the Chargers,” Kaif says, striding past the Seeker. “The Iron Bull is a Qunari. Ben Hassarath and he’s been ordered to cooperate and help us. And he has someone from Earth with him.” She says walking back the way they came. Sophie drops her bow. Fenris blinks, the other’s making sounds of surprise and dismay. He shares a glance with Varric, the dwarf no doubt remembering the last time they dealt with Qunari forces. Kaif’s stride doesn’t falter. “You can argue with me back at camp. Let’s go.”


	14. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAa FINALLY you say "Finally she updates"
> 
> Yeah sorry about that. I got distracted by some mess but it's done with and hopefully I can try to rebuild some kind of schedule. Hopefully at least one more chapter before my birthday. Soz.
> 
> I hope this is worth the wait.
> 
> As always much love to my beta and everyone that left me comments. <3

**Chapter 14**

The debate doesn't last long. Under the pavilion, Kaif explains her position in clear, concise points. The other-worlder will be going with the mercenaries on to Haven and their leader, the Iron bull will be meeting them in the south. Better to have the demon you know of in sight than the one you don't, Kaif argues. And having a mercenary band as effective and efficient as the Charger’s could only help with the mountain of tasks before them. Not everyone agrees.

“I’m just saying,” Varric says over a steaming mug of hot sweet tea. “I’ve seen up close what happens when Qunari decide you’re the enemy.”

“Their reputation is well earned,” Fenris adds, warming himself at a brazier. The wind won’t stop gusting through gaps in the canvas, keeping him chilled. “So long as you are aware of the very real possibility of his becoming a threat, it may be beneficial.”

Kaif nods. “That’s what I’m thinking. He’s offered information along with his support, from his contacts and the Qun, and he’s agreed to run his reports by Leliana before sending them along.”

“And the more information the better,” Solas says. He’s still in his simple tunic and leggings, perfectly comfortable, a low hum of magic explaining why. “Especially if we can compare with other sources.”

Sera throws up her hands. “Alright, it’s settled, yeah? What now?”

“Now,” Kaif says, “we take a look around, see if we can find why Harding's missing scouts, close any rifts nearby, and then we head south to the Hinterlands.”

Suitably dismissed, the group separates into smaller factions gathering around the braziers for warmth. Fenris cradles his own mug of tea, sweetened with honey and sinks down onto a low stool. Food is cooking. Soon they can eat and retire if they wish, bundle up for sleep in their tents or in the pavilion closer to the hot coals.

Sophie sags onto a wooden crate beside him, stretching out her legs with a groan. “Okay so the rain and storm is nice but I disagree with the cold.” She sips her tea, lets out that contented little sigh that comes with every first taste of tea, some of the tension in her shoulders melting away.

“I thought you liked the cold.” Fenris says with a smile. She snorts, lips pulling into a smile. Sophie lightly kicks his foot.

“I do, but there’s a limit. Australia’s hot and humid.” Her nose wrinkles.

“So you’ve said.” Fenris says, kicking her foot in return. “At least dinner will warm us up with any luck.” Already the heavy scent of cooking meat wafts from the cooking fires, salted beef and venison. His mouth waters. Sophie groans again.

“Hopefully. I just wanna sleep. Cuddle up somewhere and turn off.” She frowns, cheeks going pink before yawning, shaking herself like a lion shaking off water. Smiling, Fenris hums. That sounds nice, somewhere warm and dim, sleeping with quiet company. Soft and warm. Fenris bites his tongue, moves his thoughts elsewhere.

“That does sound rather appealing.” Vivienne says. She drapes a broad furred blanket around Sophie’s shoulders, leaving enough for another to join. She sits primly on the edge of Sophie’s crate. “Such dreary weather invites close comfort and deep rest.” Vivienne strokes some of the hair back from Sophie’s forehead. “You seem especially weary my dear. Have you not been sleeping?”

Fenris frowns. Sophie’s lips press together before relaxing, a little tell that makes his stomach sink.

“You never said.” He says. Sophie grimaces.

“I didn’t want to worry you, Fen.” She says. “Or anyone.” Sophie turns to Vivienne. The older woman sighs, hand soothing Sophie’s hair. Fenris wants to do the same.

“My dear, we are companions, and you my apprentice, however informally. There’s no shame in needing assistance.”

“I just need to adapt. To…” She shakes her head. “Demons, magic, everything. I’ll be okay.” Sophie says, not meeting either of their gazes.

Fenris shakes his head, takes Sophie’s hand and her fingers clutch at his.

“Even so,” he says, squeezing her fingers. “I would rather know.”

“As would I.” Vivienne says. “What little I know of your world describes one of such safety, it is a wonder you do not let fear master you. But the reality remains that there are those that care, and more, depend upon your wellness.” She cups Sophie’s cheek. “You are shielding yourself, yes??” She asks. Sophie’s cheeks go a little pink, and her fingers grip Fenris’ a little tighter.

He tries not to think of holding her, of promising safety he cannot guarantee. It is not his place.

Sophie sighs, leaning a little into Vivienne’s hand before nodding. “Yes. The last thing I want is…” She trails off but none here could doubt what she speaks of.

“We won’t let that happen.” Vivienne says, so very much like her moniker, utterly unyielding. She looks to Fenris and nods, a decision made. “Come, we should work on this before supper. If I may?” Vivienne casts Fenris the question, a knowing smile on her full dark lips. Ears burning, he lets Sophie’s fingers go and Vivienne smiles, sweeping her away to her larger tent.

And is that not a pain in itself? He bears the scars of magic and longs for one still so very new to hers. A mage. Sometimes he forgets, foolish as that sounds. Perhaps that is because he knew her first as a woman, afraid and alone but brave. Clever. Gentle.

Rubbing his fingers together, Fenris sighs, retreats to the fire to let conversation sweep over him

Fenris takes his supper between Cassandra and the scout, Harding, talking over the landscape they would soon face, discussing routes revealed by a map. Soon half the group were circled around the parchment, until a plan of action had taken shape and soon laughter followed, jokes, quips, teasing. Vivienne led the charge enquiring after Solas’ coattails, apparently burned in the earlier battle.

With no attention on him, Fenris retreats, slipping into his tent. Maze is where he expects, against the side of the tent closest to a nearby brazier, stretched out to enjoy the warmth. On her bedroll, Sophie looks up from her sketchbook, a weak smile appearing as quick as passing lightning.

“Hey,”

Fenris frowns. “Are you alright?” He asks, crouching to start unbuckling his gauntlets. Sophie grunts, looking down at her work.

“Tired.” She says after a long moment, putting her pencil away. She glances at him, and groans. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m an idiot that should’ve said something sooner.”

Fenris allows himself a smile, and sets his gauntlets to the side beside his sword. He takes the chance to move, to sit himself beside Sophie.

“Foolish perhaps, but no idiot.” He says. She huffs. “Why did you not tell me?” he asks when she straightens. She makes a face at him, annoyed and a little shamed.

“They usually pass. And we have enough on our plate.” Sophie sighs. “Fenris, I feel like I’ve been a burden enough to everyone, you especially. I’m still learning to make sense of things here, learning to keep up and finding myself wanting. Half the time I feel like someone’s going to realise I’m not supposed to be here and send me back to Haven to sit on my ass.” Ah.

“I understand.” He tugs at her hand and her attention slides to him. “Hawke often felt the same. As if her successes were all by chance. It is a disservice to her, and to you.”

Sophie grunts and leans against him, her head finding a place against his shoulder. Part of him feels shame for wanting this, for enjoying her desire for comfort. Fenris gently rubs his hand along her back and feels her shudder and relaxes.

“Yeah okay, I’m being stupid.” She says.

“Hardly. It seems a normal worry.” Fenris says gently. At the edge of the tent, Maze huffs, lifting her head to study them. After a moment the mabari rises, padding over to flop onto her belly before them both, big head on her mistresses knee.

“Hey bubba. No one giving you love, huh?” Sophie asks. The dog whines and clambers up onto Sophie’s lap, flopping down with a huff. Sophie laughs, pats the pup, now much bigger than she was back at the farm, and gives Fenris a smile. “Just a warning, she’s gonna hog the blankets.”

If Sophie has any nightmares, they are not enough to disturb him, unlike the slender arm that loops over his waist in the middle of night. Fenris jolts awake, panic beating against his chest until Sophie sighs and he remembers where he is, who the arm belongs to. Before he can think, Fenris shifts closer, soothing a hand over her hair.

Rather it’s Mazikeen who wakes him, climbing up their legs to wedge herself between Fenris and Sophie. Scowling at the mabari pup, Fenris ignores her grunt and the head leaning his way asking for pats.

“Blanket hog.” He mutters. Maze grins and licks his chin. “Paugh.” He removes himself from the blankets, dresses in a warmer layer and brings his equipment out into the pale pre-dawn light. Maze follows, planting herself by his feet. “I am not your master.” Fenris says, buckling on the chestplate. “Go back to Sophie.” The pup looks at the tent and back to him. “You woke me up.” He says.

Maze whines, head cocking to one side. Fenris sighs, and crouches, rubbing a hand over her head. “Sophie needs her rest. I do not. There’s no need for me to linger.” However much he wishes to.

Maze whines again, pressing a paw to his knee. She looks back at the tent. No. He can’t. Soon they will be striking along this part of the coast, following some lead Harding presented Kaif the day before. Fenris may as well make himself useful by aiding the camp.

It’s another drizzly day. Kaif and Solas collect blood lotus along the shoreline, the others ordered to keep an eye out for elfroot. Sophie seems no different, though she pinks whenever she looks at him and spends much of the day talking with Cassandra about overcoming an enemy's shield. He tries not to let it hurt, reminding himself that there’s no guarantee she will want him.

And yet, after a fight that bloodies his leg, makes him limp on the still weak muscle, Sophie’s the first to reach his side, to offer her shoulder to support him. The worry tight on her face, watching intently until the wound is healed under Solas’ hands.

She jumps when Kaif taps her on the arm, pulls her away to look at something and the group follows. It’s wreckage, rain slick scratched and scored metal, dark grey, smooth and angular where it isn’t a ruin. It lays in a ditch of displaced earth and rock, pieces of metal scattered over the wet earth. Sophie crouches, lays her hands on a piece as if afraid it will break, eye wide.

She picks it up, rising, eyes on the bulk nestled between mounds of earth and mud.

“What was this thing?” Varric asks, kicking at something, blackened but light. It tumbles down the slope, clanging against every rock and boulder so loud it makes half the group wince. Varric has the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

Sophie smiles sadly, and looks up at the bult, gingerly climbing up to the wreck. It dwarfs her, looking more like a strange ship to Fenris, rounded and graceful, the tip narrowing to what may have been a point, the sides stretching into flattened shapes, torn off by whatever means it arrived. Its back half lies elsewhere, further up the slope perhaps but out of sight.

Sophie points to a design painted on the side, red and white stripes, pale stars arranged on blue. “This is the flag of the United states of America. And this…” She sets her hand on the grey wreck, frowning at the remains. “A fighter jet I think. A craft that flies through the air with a pilot. Military.”

“Wait, you people can fly?” Sera startles, leaping away from the hunk of muddied metal she’d been standing on. “I thought you said you didn’t have any magic!”

“We don’t.” Sophie huffs and Fenris can almost hear the muttered profanity. “Science, technology. Strap wings of the right shape to a source of propulsion with enough force and it’ll fly.” She taps a gaping tear in the side. “Said wings were here, and the pilot.” Sophie dropped down the chunk in her hands and reaches up, pulling herself up to peek in. “Ejected. Escaped the plane before it crashed.”

She lowers herself down as Solas climbs up beside her, pressing one long fingered hand against the side of the plane.

“You said military.” He says, voice soft. Sophie’s jaw clenches and she nods.

“It’s a weapon of war. Of sorts.” She says and turns away.

They find the rest of the wreckage up the slope, but little else. Anything useful has been scavenged or lost, likely by the same folk responsible for the ominous banners and haphazard shacks dotting the steep slopes.

The skirmishes are short and brutal, the human warriors fighting with a ferocity Fenris can respect were it not for their habit of using hounds. Mazikeen yelps as two tear at the young mabari, Sophie screaming profanity as she hacks at a black beast that hounds her.

They manage, clearing a shack, finding the burned armour from one of Harding’s scouts piled inside a fire pit. As the rain starts up again, they take shelter, making camp and tending to their wounds.

Maze has not fared that poorly, the thicker, more wolf like fur from her sire protecting her tough skin from the other hounds. Only her left ear bears damage, the tip torn free. This Sophie tends under Solas’ guidance, using salve and magics to seal the wound and set it to healing.

Fenris scratches along Maze’s back, the pup’s tail beating pleased as punch against his feet, watching Sophie as she turns her focus to Kaif’s outstretched arm.

“We found out who these pricks are.” The she-elf mutters, waving to Cassandra looming over the herald like a protective shadow.

“Fortuitous.” Solas says, looking away from Sophie’s careful work.

“The Blades of Hessarian.” Cassandra announces, waving a note. “This mentions an amulet of theirs. Perhaps a way to deal with their presence here.”

“Or treat for peace.” Solas says, taking the note. The Seeker snorts. “Perhaps they know what became of the person from the earther craft.”

“Plane,” Sophie corrects absently. “And if they’re killing off scouts, I’m not hopeful.”

“And siccing dogs on other dogs.” Fenris says gently, scritching Maze’s head.

“Damn right.” Sophie mutters, earning a grin from Kaif.

“Whatever comes,” The herald starts, “We’ll at least find Harding’s people. Knowing their fate for certain should be at least some comfort for their kin.”

They head further North, following the winding coast and rocky columns, occasionally striking inwards to the steep hills and valleys. They found the Hessarian’s camp, their leader challenging Kaif in single combat.

It was a tense battle, but short, the human warrior falling to Kaif’s flashing knives. The she-elf stares grimly around the camp, demanding answers for the slain scouts. To the sound of distant thunder, one warrior steps forward, bowing to Kaif.

They, he explains, are sworn to follow leaders chosen by Andraste. Their latest, it seems, was decidedly unpopular.

“We are grateful, now we can follow the Herald of Andraste.” He says, missing the sudden stillness in Kaif. “Our blades are yours.”

Cassandra sends the Blades onward to the main camp with a note meant for Cullen. More agents, more arms and eyes for the Inquisition. It’s progress of sorts as are the two rifts they manage to close with no injuries.

It’s the giant that forms their next problem.

“Maker…” Cassandra breathes, peering over the ridge to the battle taking place. On the sprawling sandy delta below, the great being stomps, swinging an uprooted tree as a club against a dragon that roars and spits lightning. It’s deafening, the sound shaking the rock Fenris crouches behind, thundering through his chest. No one speaks, all peering carefully at the spectacle, tense as if ready to bolt at the first sign of attention from either behemoth.

The dragon’s wings beat, buffeting the giant with rain and sand and the great brute howls, pulling a boulder from the earth. He throws it, missing the dragon who shrieks, twists sharply, slamming it’s tail into the giant.

Sophie hisses, the ground shaking as the giant lands and the dragon, apparently satisfied, takes wing and heads further north. Looking up at Fenris, Sophie nudges him with her elbow.

“Tell me you haven’t fought a giant before.”

Fenris’ lips quirk. “No. This is new.” Sophie laughs, sounding as breathless as he feels.

“Shh!” Sera swipes at Sophie, blue eyes wide. “I don’t wanna get et by that thing!” She hisses.

“Then shut it.” Varric grumbles, gloved fingers clutching the craggy step he crouches behind. “It’s moving.” Fenris holds his breath, watching the giant rise, swaying, casting a glower towards the horizon. After a few moments, the only sound is the wind and waves, the giant huffs and turns, taking heavy, but steady steps inland, dragging its tree-club behind it.

As the steps recede, a sigh comes from the group around him. Sophie twists, leaning her back against the rock and wipes the rain from her hair.

“Anything else you guys are hiding from me?” She asks, voice low. “Dragons, giants. What’s next? Unicorns? Centaurs? Actual freaking dinosaurs?”

Sera grunts next to her, nose wrinkling. “What’s a dinosaurs?” Sophie glances at Fenris, meeting his gaze and he sees the beginning of an impish smile.

“How much time have you got?”

*

Explaining dinosaurs took the better part of the next few hours and even then, Sophie is certain everyone thinks she’s just making it up. Except Solas for some reason.

“You seem too sincere for this to be falsehood,” He says stooping to gently pry a mature elfroot plant from the damp earth. “And all the things we have in Thedas, it seems strange to doubt something.”

“Easier to believe what you know and see.” Sophie sighs, scanning the area. The distant sighting of a bear had left her stomach in anxious knots. It was big. Too damn big. The giant at least you could hear coming.

Solas huffs, a little laugh that wrinkles the corners of his eyes, makes him look young and old all at once. “That is true.” Tucking the plant away, he stands and they continue. Camp has been set for the night, the faint scent of new woodsmoke calling them back to the meagre shelter offered by a shallow cave in the sheer rock that jutted upwards from the narrow strip of coastline. Necessary, Kaif argued. It may be spring, and further north than Haven, but the constant drizzle left a chill that clung to a body, no matter how many layers they wore. And at least the cave itself denied most of the wind, while a rather fortunate copse of trees would serve to block the firelight.

Following the older elf along the rocky path up the steep hill, their passage watched by an ancient stone figure that could only be a dwarf, Sophie wished sometimes she would shut her mouth. Bloody know it all. No one really needed to know what dinosaurs were, or that they were the very ancient ancestors of birds, or anything else she went on about. How the fuck Fenris put up with her she’d-

“I must confess,” Solas says, his voice jerking her from her self pity. “I envy the ease in which you can learn of your world.” Leaning on his staff, Solas studies her a moment with his gentle grey eyes. “Such a thing that must be, to pull a device from your pocket and summon the answer.” Yes, she’d covered the internet as well, or tried to.

“Provided the net is working.” Sophie mutters, wobbling up the last metre up the slope and looking back down. That would not be a fun descent. On purpose or otherwise. “It does mean misinformation is everywhere.” Solas chuckles.

“Yes, it very well might be.” Gravel whispers as he steps off the path and onto thick damp grass. His poor toes. Must be freezing. “I wonder though, what it may be like to do the same for this world.”

“You can ask spirits right?” Sophie gingerly pads after him, scanning for more herbs. “Memories locked into a place.”

“But is that the same?” Solas asks.

“Is it necessarily worse?” Sophie counters and gets a smile, pleased and proud, less like a gentle teacher and more… It passes before she can name it, Solas turning away.

“Less accessible,” he replies softly. His grey eyes turn somehow sad, regretful - it’s just a flash of something Sophie doesn’t quite understand. “Not everyone is a mage who can enter the Fade or pull Spirits across the Veil.”

He wipes rain from the top of his clean shaved head and scans the undergrowth and Sophie shakes her head, following suit. Now and then, she gets the feeling there’s far more to Solas than he’s saying. Just a feeling that leaves quick as it comes.

Stalking through thick brush, a sickly scent reaches Sophie’s nose. Wrinkling, she follows the smell, it grows stronger and stronger until her foot kicks a waterlogged boot, the leather chewed and mangled.

“Ah fuck. Solas?” She calls, stomach rolling. Broken branches, scraps of fabric, thin but strong lines leading to tattered and torn strips of silk. At the other end is a black harness hanging off a bush. Leaves rustle as he appears, frowning when he spots the harness. “I think I found the pilot.”

Solas inhales and grimaces. “Yes, I believe you may have. We should look, see if they are likely to rise.” Rise. Right. That’s why they burn their dead. Clenching her jaw against the smell, Sophie steps lightly over the boot, the ruined parachute and a rotting log. The body is sprawled with no real grace, the grey jumpsuit torn and stained dark. It was not a gentle end.

Solas murmurs something in the elvish tongue, lightly stepping around the various scraps and bits, that which was left by scavengers and birds. He crouches by the head, short dark hair still visible on the scalp. Sophie can’t make herself look, focusing instead on the little details. Another boot lay against the roots of a tree, further along , a stretch of ruined parachute sways on the branches of a bush. Slowly, surely, Sophie brings herself closer to the pilot, eventually looking over the uniform, the pouches and webbing still hanging from the torso, and from the side of the safety vest, the brown handle of a gun.

When Solas reaches to gently turn the body, Sophie holds up a hand, crouching down and gingerly pulling the weapon free. Keeping her fingers away from the trigger, the barrel pointed away from Solas, she turns away, struggling to remember what her Nan taught her, heart hammering against her ribs. Finger off the trigger, find the safety, eject the magazine, empty the chamber. Right?

“Can… I need some light, could you-?” She asks and Solas nods, lifting a hand, summoning flickering ghostly flame.

“What is that?” He asks, gentleness gone.

“Dangerous.” Sophie flicks the safety, uncocking the hammer.. The magazine releases easily, and Sophie sets it down and racks back the slide, ejecting the last round. It clinks as it hits a rock, brass jacket gleaming. After checking the chamber is empty, Sophie lets go of her breath. She puts the weapon down, picking up the bullet. “Think Varric’s crossbow but smaller and more powerful.” She holds it up for Solas to see. “This little thing will tear through you faster than you can react. It’ll bounce off bones and puncture organs and maybe hit someone behind you depending on how close you were to the gun. I fucking hate these things.”

“Yet you know how to disable it.” Solas says holding a hand for the bullet. He rolls it between his fingers as Sophie stashes the magazine and gun away. She’ll strip the bullets out, figure a safe way to carry everything. It can’t stay here.

“My Dad’s mother taught me. She knew from her parents, they knew from theirs and… Experience.” She finds her hoodie and wraps the weapon inside. It was a trade off to learn the bow. She said I had to learn to respect how dangerous it was.”

“A wise woman.” Solas passes the bullet back. “You knew the pilot might be armed.”

“Yeah. A side arm is standard.” Sophie looks at the pilot and tries not to shudder. Most of the face was gone, the throat… She gags looking away. Breathe through your mouth, Soph. “Okay, around their neck should be a chain. Lil tags hanging from it. Think you can get it?”

“Also standard?” Solas asks the summoned flame not moving as fabric rustles.

“Yeah. Identification. Just need to pull one of the tags off.” Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t /throw up./

“Here.” Solas holds the section of chain clear of the body, the rubber rimmed tags clinking gently together. Sophie fumbles, undoing the latch on the little ball chain and pulling the tag free. “And the other?” He asks.

“Stays with the body. Future identification. Should survive the fire.” Sophie’s words come fast and clumsy as she stands, backing away. She gets a few feet before she has to lurch and empty her stomach. She heaves until it’s empty, ignoring the sounds of Solas summoning magical fire and the stink of soot and burning polymer. It’s only when cool gentle fingers press against the back of her neck that Sophie realises she’s crying. Again.

“All is well, Sophie. There was nothing you could do.”

“Yeap.” She croaks, wiping at her face with the hood of her cloak. “Long dead. Just…”

“Unused to death.” Solas says. When she looks, there’s sorrow in his eyes, old and hurting still that he blinks away. “Though It gets easier.”

Sophie’s stomach twists but she swallows down the bile. “I don’t want it to.”

Solas smiles sadly, brushing hair from her brow. “I don’t imagine you do. Come. I think we have enough elfroot to satisfy the requisition officer.” He’s Smiles, almost fatherly as she straightens, nodding. SHe stuffs the dog tag into her pocket and follows him trying vainly to wish away the shame of crying. In public. Again.

The cave is warmer than the outside, summoned by a crackling fire by the mouth that Kaif tends, smile fading as she takes in their expressions.

“What happened?”

“Found the pilot.” Sophie muuters, shaking off the rain.

“And?”

“He did not survive.” Solas gestures for Sophie to go on and smiling gratefully, she does, passing a card game between Varric, Sera and Fenris, pausing long enough to answer his smile with one of her own and heading for their tent. Her cloak and jacket she hangs on a little line someone had thoughtfully set up and ducks in, kicking off her boots. Maze naps beside the still rolled up bedrolls, opening her yellow eyes for a moment, tail wagging before she huffs and curls up into a smaller ball. Sophie snorts.

“Glad to see you’re comfortable.” She mutters, sitting cross legged and pulling things out of her bag. Her water bottle, the little travel toothpaste and brush and the gun which she lays out on her hoodie. Beside it she adds the single dog tag and the last round. As she brushes her teeth and mouth, Sophie eyes the gun, her Nanna’s voice soft but firm in her ear.

“Never point it at something you don’t want dead. Pulling the trigger is too easy, girl.” Old strong hands covered hers, aiming the old revolver at the bush pig carcase. Just a few millimetres and it spits fire the sound like thunder striking her chest and chunks of pig fly. Scowing, Sophie takes a mouthful of water and starts rinsing. It was an effective lesson. One she never forgot when Nanna had her help shoot pests on her sprawling farm.

Spitting out the water into another cup to empty out, Sophie wiped down her hands and started looking over the gun. Nothing she could see, but she wasn’t familiar with pulling apart and putting together military sidearms. The magazine she emptied, slipping every bullet free until she had 17 laid out on her black hoodie. The flap of the tent pulled open, startling Sophie and Fenris swore, looking apologetic.

“Apologies, Sophie I-…” He cuts off looking at the hard polymer and metal and slips further into the tent, closing it. “Solas said you found the pilot.”

Sophie nods, reaching into her bag. She has something that could hold the bullets. “Yeap.”

“And that is,” He reaches for it, stopping when she freezes. “A weapon he said.”

“Yeap.” Sophie says. Ah a lil zipper pouch filled with unmentionables. She empties it out, stashing the contents elsewhere before scooping the bullets into the bag. Save for one which she offers to Fenris. “Behold, tiny death.” His nose wrinkles, magnificent brow furrowing as he examines it without touching.

“Small. I imagine that’s very deceptive.” He says as she adds it to it’s fellows and zips up the case.

“Very.” She stuffs the bag away, wrapping the magazine and gun a dirty shirt and adding it to her bag. Out of sight, she sighs, and flops back onto the canvas floor of the tent, glancing over to Fenris. He studies her, thoughtful, something soft in his eyes. “What?”

A smile comes and goes and Fenris shakes his head, the tips of his ears going dark. “Nothing. You seemed distressed.”

“Dead body.” She says and he hums, leaning out of sight before laying beside her.

“Hard to see.” He says gently and Sophie grunts. The arm that presses against hers is warm and she’s cold, chilled to the core and further still. She wants to roll into it. Ask for a hug. Be held. She satisfies herself with closing her eyes, listening to Mazikeen’s breathing and Fenris’ tapping fingers. “You have watch.” Fenris says suddenly and Sophie cracks open an eye. His looking at her, white hair falling over his mossy eyes, Sophie’s heart jumps. He’s beautiful. She knows it the same way she knows a landscape covered in fog is beautiful, like the sunlight through leaves. Serious and playful, angular plans and rounded eyes and soft sensual lips. Her gaze falls onto those lips and heat flushes her cheeks before she can tear her gaze away. He is her friend. Gods above she may want more, but he is her friend.

“First half or second?”

“First.” Fenris says. “You and Cassandra.”

“Sounds fun.” Sophie drawls and feels more than hears Fenris’ silent laugh.

“You should rest. I’ll wake you when it is time to eat.” A whisper of fabric and a blanket is draped over her. Sophie rolls onto her side.

“I’m fine.”

“I know.” Fenris says gently, a hand resting on her shoulder.

She does nap, and true to his word Fenris wakes her. The evening meal is hot and filling, foraged greens and blanched blood lotus root, tart and strangely spicy. It sits in her belly warm and comforting as all but Cassandra and herself head to bed, Maze sitting loyally by Sophie’s side.

“I will take the tree line. Kaif and I prepared a tarp to keep the rain off.” Cassandra says pulling a cloak around her broad shoulders. It’s a good look, warm skin and the deep black of her hair and the eyeliner she favoured. Strong, commanding and still very feminine. It was more than a little distracting.

“All the better to see anything coming.” Sophie says and Cassandra gives a fierce little smile.

“Just so. You have the cave entrance.”

“And your back.” Sophie says patting her bow. “You want Maze to keep you company?” Cassandra’s brow wrinkles as she looks at the mabari, bending enough to rub a hand over the dog’s head.

“No. Let her stay with her mistress.” She says, straightening. “Midnight we switch.”

“You got it.” Sophie says waving the Seeker off. As the warrior slips into the darkness, her way lit but a sheltered lander, Sophie finds a seat on a low broad rock and settles in.

Taking watch sucks. Normally. It’s boring and long, requiring focus and awareness. Not things that come strongly to a generally distracted anxious artist that prefers to be drawing than sitting still.

The first hour is quiet, distant snores from Varric echoing against the rock walls mingling with the soft roar of the Waking. With that comes rain, gentle, and then with the rumble of thunder. By the second hour, Sophie is fidgeting, kicking her feet trying to keep her gaze on the darkness and not the flickering light show above.

She’s so bored the sound of movement behind her is a relief. Sophie twists looking and almost laughs at the dishevelled Fenris padding around the still burning fire, huddled in a blanket. He squints at her, a flicker of a smile that’s smothered by a put on scowl as he steps over Maze and plants himself on the rock.

“Evening.” Sophie drawls and Fenris grunts, hunching against the cold air and shuffling closer. “Can’t sleep?”

“Oddly enough, no.” He answers. Lightning flashes, catching on his hair and Sophie can’t help but smile at the answering thunder. Like the night in the broken mill, hiding from the cold and storming night. Another shit day with a better night as if to spite what had come before. Fenris tilts his head, gaze meetings hers for a moment. “How is it?”

“Quiet.”

“Boring, then.” He says and Sophie groans.

“So boring. Even Maze is done with it.” The wolf-dog quietly woofs from where she lays, head up staring into the black. “How the hell do you do it?” Fenris shrugs, gaze now drawn to the sky.

“Practice, perhaps. Duty. Something to defend.” He says softly. Sophie snorts, quietly as she dares.

“And so they ask the most defenceless of the group.” Fenris gives her a flat look. “Don’t argue that one. I’m the squishy inexperienced one, we all know this.”

“Inexperienced, yes.” Fenris murmurs. “Squishy?” He narrows his eyes at the word. “Perhaps. Not entirely defenceless.”

“Mostly.” Sophie says and he sighs. “Very. Exceedingly-”

Fenris lays a hand on her arm. “Sophie. Stop. You know this is false.” She meets his gaze, holds it, no subtle humour or guile or anything but open honestly. It’s hard to deny, much like the ache in her heart. When he looks at her like this, she feels /seen/.

“Do I?” She asks but it’s a half hearted challenge.

“If you do not then you must believe me.” Fenris says, and there, a wry curve of his lips. His hand gently squeezes her arm.

“I do.” Sophie says and he smiles, a real smile. His eyes crinkle at the corner, a dimple appears in one cheek. It’s bashful and glad and precious.

“Good.” He says and offers her room beneath his blanket. Sophie wiggles closer and he tucks her against him. She shifts for a moment, trying to find a place for her arm until she gives up and loops it around Fenris’ back. He smiles, pleased and looks out into the night. After a moment, Sophie rests her head against his shoulder.

“So why can’t you sleep?” He stills for a moment before sighing, turning his head to rest his cheek against her hair.

“I have been thinking. About you” Fenris says and Sophie’s heart leaps into her throat. “In truth, I have been thinking of little else.” He turns, leaning until their faces are only a few inches apart, green eyes dark, focused on her. “If you only desire for us to only be friends, I will accept it.”

“Only…” Only. Only meaning there was is an offer of more, a desire for more. Fenris, he… Sophie’s mind races. He wants more? She licks her lips, and his gaze drops to her mouth. “You want more?” She asks. Fenris swallows, dropping his gaze. He stills as if readying to pull away. Fear. He’s afraid. Oh, Fenris. Sophie wiggles her arms from the blankets, hesitating a moment before cupping either side of his face. His skin is soft, warm, and he leans into her hands with a tiny sigh.

“Yes,” He says, eyes closing. His hands clasp her own and he tilts his head, brushing lips against one palm and then the other. “Yes. But only if you desire.” He says and opens his eyes. Such a beautiful green, she could live there forever, she… What does she desire? Sophie hasn’t allowed herself to think beyond the nebulous concept of ‘survive’. Find her feet. Keep up. Adapt. Want is… New. No, not new, Sophie knows looking into Fenris’ eyes. Ignored. Drowned out. Denied. But… Him? Easy answer there.

She huffs a breathless laugh.”How the hell could I say no to you?”

Fenris smiles, eyes shining hopeful, his hands find her waist, he pulls and his lips meet hers. It’s a shy thing, barely a brush, but Sophie shivers, arching into him. He pulls away enough to breathe, eyes questioning and Sophie tugs him back. His lips are chapped but gentle, clumsy at first following her lead as she tilts her head and lightly runs her fingers of one hand down his neck. Fenris lets out a soft needy sound, catching her hand, his nose bumping against hers and she giggles, pecking the corner of his mouth. Like a teenager. Barely knowing what to do. Maybe he doesn’t, Sophie thinks and the thought hurts. No laughing then. She bumps his nose back, kissing him again, a soft movement of lips and breath that makes him shudder and relax, arm holding her tight against his front.

And they break away, his eyes linger closed, thick dark lashes a delicate line of lace against his cheeks. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and finally looks at her with something like awe.

“Good answer?” She asks and he nods.

“Very good answer.” He says and pulls her in for another kiss.

To their credit, they don’t get caught. Maze wuffs quietly at Cassandra's quiet approach and it’s warning enough for the two to pull apart enough to seem… moderately normal. Sophie can’t seem to let go entirely, tangling her fingers with his under the blanket.

The Seeker, wet and looking more than a little irritated glances at them both, eyes widening to see Fenris, calm and composed save for the ruddy cast to his ears. Sophie felt rather less put together, cheeks burning, her lips tingling. Could she see?

“Fenris…” Cassandra’s gaze flicks to Sophie and it’s a fight to keep calm.

“Seeker,” Fenris answers, his voice a little rough. “It is storming.”

“So it is.” Cassandra shakes the water from her short black hair. “See anything?” She asks, eyeing Sophie.

“No.” She says, aiming for nonchalant. As if she hasn’t been making out with Fenris. “And If I missed anything, Maze would warn me.”

“Wuff,” Mazikeen says, tail wagging.

“You look pretty cold, though, Cass.” Sophie says, slipping out of the blanket. “Come on, we’ll go wake up the next watch and you can warm up.”

“Yes, I believe I will.” Cassandra says slowly, looking between the two of them before sighing. “The wind is terribly cold, isn’t it?” Sophie nods.

“Thank fuck, Fenris is a big softie and brought a blanket for me.” She says and loops her arm with the seeker’s, tugging her back to camp.

It's worth the discomfort to see the glee on Cassandra’s face as she strides into Varric’s tent to wake him, the dwarf coming to with a surprised grunt and a muffled “Why the blazes am I wet?” The seeker stepped out, a pleased smile on her face as she strides to the fire, greeting a yawning Kaif with a nod of her head.

“The dwarf will be joining you, complaining all the while no doubt.” She says sitting by the fire, accepting a linen cloth to dry with.

“Gotta say, that was mean,” Sophie says, “but I like your style.”

Cassandra grins for a moment before rubbing at her hair. “He deserves it. He knows why. And Fenris is….?” She trails off, glancing at their tent and Sophie’s cheeks warm again. Dammit.

“Going back to sleep.”

“Like you should be.” Kaif says gently, giving Sophie a knowing smile. “Don’t think I’m letting up just because it’s raining.” Ugh. Great. More archery practice first thing.

“Yes, Mum.” Sophie groans, drawling out the term. It got a grin as she hopes and Sophie stands, dipping into a showy bow too many people attempt at living history faires. “Night Cass.” Laughter from the two follow her into her tent, trailing off into a quiet murmur of conversation as Sophie turns to close and ties the flap.

A gentle chuckle startles her and Sophie twists to scowl at Fenris, sitting upright in his bedroll.

“Mum?” He asks and Sophie rolls her eyes and starts taking off her boots.

“She’s acting like my mother so I sassed her.”

“How rebellious.”

“I’ll sass you next.” Sophie says with a grunt, dumping her boots at the end of the tent. Fenris laughs, the sound low and rich and it does things to her fingers, making her fumble at the fastenings of her cloak.

“Please do.” He says, watching her with half closed eyes, a smile on his full lips. Gods she wants to kiss him again. Shucking off her layers, Sophie climbs into her bedroll, holding Fenris’ gaze as she does. Like this they’re inches away; he must’ve moved their rolls closer while waiting.

“Cheeky you are.” Sophie breathes and Fenris laughs softly, dropping his gaze for a moment. Looking up, he brushes hair from her hair with a smile.

“You make it easy to be playful.” Hey says, and Sophie’s heart throbs. Oh, oh sweet Fenris. She leans into the calloused fingers against her cheek, sighing.

“Sweet talker.” She says. “Though, we should probably figure out how we want to do this?”

Fenris’ smile fades a little but he nods, hand falling away. He lays down, studying her in the dim light. “In this matter I may have to defer to you. I… do not have much experience.”

Sophie winces. “Yeah.” She starts to lay down, and pauses to peck a kiss to his cheek and gets a smile. Arranging herself, propping her head on her arm, Sophie sighs again and twists her fingers into her blanket. Easier than touching him, as much as her fingers itch to. “So, no idea how things are done here but, at home, normally the next step we’d take is to start dating. Think of it like… courting.”

“Courting.” Fenris says, lips quirking.

“Well, yeah. We’d go out for a meal, see a movie, spend time together. Kind of to see how we work as a couple.”

Fenris hums, trailing his hand over her shoulder, her arm. “Not something easily done while on the road. But the idea of trying…” He smiles gentle and sweet. “I like that.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in her belly and Sophie smiles in return, her fingers loosing from the blanket, stroking lightly against his jaw. What do those markings feel like? Warm? Raised like scars? Slick and smooth?

“Me too. The point of all this is to figure out how we want this to work. And I don’t mind taking time…” Time would be good. Time would help her figure things out. The last thing she wants is to hurt him. As if aware of her thoughts, Fenris frowns.

“What is it?” His hand has gone stiff on her arm. Sophie opens her mouth and stops herself. Nothing would be the easiest answer. But also a lie. He deserves better. Dropping her hand Sophie groans.

“It’s nothing to do with you, I promise I just…” She tears her gaze from him, finding a dark patch of canvas to focus on. “Ever since I got here I haven’t let myself think beyond…” She sighs. “Getting through the day and the next day. It’s been survival twenty-four-seven, not even room for want and I….” Fumbling her hand grabs his, his bare fingers,. His markings are warmer than his skin, smooth… His fingers grip hers, gently squeezing. “Every time I thought of you like this, I had to remind myself that you’re my friend. I didn’t want to hurt you, or to be selfish. Or to risk that…” Sudden tears prick at her eyes and Sophie grumbles wiping at her face and strong arms envelop her, tugging her close.

“I understand, strange as that must be to hear.” Fenris’ breath puffs against her hair with every word. “It has taken me a very long time to allow myself to want, to desire.” The word makes her shiver and Fenris’ embrace tightens. “If this is too much Sophie, I will wait, whatever you require.”

Sophie scoffs. “It’s not the waiting. It’s… I don’t know.” She buries her face in his tunic, breathes in. It smells like him, sweat and the soap he uses, leather and a tinge of ozone. His heart beats quickly beneath her cheek. He’s nervous. She can’t blame him and she is really not helping. “I know I like you. I know that I miss it when you’re not around and when shit goes down you’re the first thing I look for. I know that the thought of you not being here any more scares the shit out of me.” She breathes in again, holds it until her lungs start to burn and exhales slowly. “I know that hurting you is the last thing I want.” At some point, Fenris’ fingers have slipped into her hair, stroking the strands gently as he listens. “You. I…. Honestly I think I’ve been wanting you for months now and I’ve been too scared to admit it.”

Fenris’ shoulders shudder and he presses his cheek to her head. “Sophie…” It’s almost chiding and as he pulls away she sees a little glint of something in his eyes. “You need never feel afraid of me. I promise you.” He says, voice rough.

“I don’t doubt it, you dork.” Sophie says and brings her face to his, their lips barely apart. “I want to try.”

Fenris smirks. “Good.” He says and kisses her again, sliding his hand along her jaw, tilting her face just right. His tongue glides against her bottom lip and without thinking Sophie lets her lips part. He’s still shy, only flicking his tongue against her lips, shivering when she responds in kind. When they break, he leans his forehead against hers. “We should sleep.”

“We should,” Sophie agrees, feeling as breathless as he sounds. Worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> I wanted fluff.


	15. The Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Als always love and cookies to my beta and love also to those that leave comments. You guys keep me working on this behemoth of a project. <3

** Chapter 15 **

Fenris wakes to the sound of the camp stirring awake, warm and in a strange state of peace. Were this Kirkwall, he could sleep till near noon, linger in the comfortable blankets and the sweet scent of the woman curled against his front. He smiles, looking down at her, at the soft brown hair in a messy braid, the pale hand clutching his tunic, the sound of her breathing slow and even.

They kissed. He can still feel her lips on his, her hands cupping his jaw, gently guiding, patient, no care for his lack of experience. Fenris can only remember a few kisses, a drunken mess of lips and tongue won from Isabela after a game of cards or Hawke’s lips on his cheek in fond affection. Nothing before that counts. Not with the gentle feel of Sophie’s mouth against his, the shudder of her breath and that smile afterwards.

Fenris bends his head, resting his cheek against her hair, running his hand down her back. They would try, they decided. Find their own way between themselves, what would work, what would not. A fair compromise.

Beyond the confines of their tent, voices stir, Solas enquiring after the Herald and the mark on her hand, Varric groaning about the chill wind from the shore. As much as he wants to, Fenris cannot stay like this. Not if he wants to begin his courting right.

Pressing his lips to Sophie’s crown, Fenris begins the slow process of extracting himself from her embrace, pausing at every small sigh and sound. Once free, he pulls on his boots, and untie the flaps to the tent and slips outside. In the cave it’s dim but dry, an improvement to the outside, if Varric is anything to go by. The dwarf gives Fenris a miserable looking grimace in lieu of a smile.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Fenris is smiling. He shrugs. “I slept well.” He crouches by the fire, eyeing the little pot of water already starting to steam. Tea would be a very good way to start.

“Stalker’s idea. Said we could all use something warm to wake up with.” Varric says yawning, dabbing at his wet hair. “You think Vixen would mind me trying some of that tea of hers?”

Fenris blinks, frowning at Varric. “Who?”

The dwarf shrugs, smiling. “Sophie. Vixen. Took me a while to see it. You think she’d mind?” He asks looking pointedly at the bag in Fenris’ hand. Fenris grunts, pulling out the canister. There was enough hopefully to last till they reach one of Ferelden’s larger towns or keeps. And Sophie had her own supply sealed in layers of plastic. She never shied from sharing.

“No, I don’t believe she’ll mind.” Fenris says slowly.

“If she does, I’ll take the blame. Need something to-” Varric breaks off into a jaw cracking yawn as Fenris starts preparing the leaves for steeping. “Help.”

“A long watch?”

“Damp.” Varric says with a glower. “I am not built for this.”

The familiar banter comes back to them as others slowly rise, Sera, bleary eyed and wobbly, hair sticking up like straw, Vivienne, composed as ever taking over the making of something dark from a yawning Cassandra. Coffee from Nevarra.

“Any nightmares?” She asks Fenris as she stirs the pot, watching Fenris pour three cups. Varric accepts his with a grateful sigh, breathing in the fragrant steam.

“Not that I noticed.” A worrying thought. Sophie would tell him now would she not? The Enchanter simply nodded, eyeing him with a faint smile.

“Best wake her then, my dear.”

Summarily dismissed, Fenris retreats to the tent, crab walking inside to find Sophie awake and sitting up. She peers at him and smiles and for a moment, Fenris can’t breathe.

“Hey, you.” She says, voice rough with sleep.

“Hello,” Fenris answers, offering her a cup, heat curling over his cheeks. Sophie takes it and smiles again. There’s little need to speak in the morning, Fenris pulling on his armour, Sophie dressing and slipping outside to take her morning exercises with Vivienne and Solas. They pack their things in mutual silence, their rhythm only broken when Sophie tugs on his sleeve to steal a little kiss.

Fenris rides the memory of it through the rest of the day as they loop back and start heading south. They escape the rain and find sunlight and spring in full bloom, the landscape green and flowering. Some of the flowers make Fenris sneeze, but it’s worth it to pluck a few for Sophie, leaving them for her to find.

She answers in kind, gentle smiles and cups of tea, leaving her sketchbook open for him to see the landscapes rendered in her hand, the caricatures of their companions and sometimes, sketches of himself.

It’s flattering to consider how often she looks at him, to make such an accurate study of the lines on his skin. And it helps. Fenris looks too. When her voice rises above the others, in laugher or some exclamation. When she practises her magic under the tutelage of Vivienne or Solas, brows a hard line of concentration as her magic prickles at the lyrium in his skin. He is coming to know how it feels, to pick her conjurings from the others when she summons fire to wreathe her arrows, and keep demons at bay.

It’s a cool night they share on watch when she turns to him, hands offered, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Trust me?” she asks, tense and ready to flee like a deer. He makes himself consider, and nods, tilting his head into her hands. Her fingers are cool and calloused and she smiles. He feels her magic, a pull and warmth, like heat from a fire sweeps over his skin, chasing off the cold. He groans, leaning into her and wishes desperately they were not in such open view.

“Warm,” He sighs and Sophie giggles, finger tips tapping his cheeks and her lips brush over his forehead.

“Correct.” She whispers, eyes laughing.

It’s a delicate dance, this business of courting and letting no one bear witness. Oh, Fenris is certain Varric knows at least, and Vivienne as well, the woman too canny with people to miss much. That they say nothing and let him pretend he is anything less than a clumsy fool in his attempts to act on ideals set out in fiction. Unfortunately, he has no other place to draw from. So he tries. Maker help him, he tries, and Sophie does not hold his inexperience against him.

Their moment is broken by Maze snorting in her sleep, the hound’s paws kicking at the air.

“What do you think she’s chasing?” Sophie asks, smiling fondly. “Rabbits?”

Fenris chuckles. “Chickens.”

“Pigeons.” Sophie bites her lip to smother the laugh.

He grins at her. “Mice.”

“Very small children.” Sophie says and Fenris snorts, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking. Sophie grins and it’s a victory.

It doesn’t last.

The ambush is well planned. They make camp nestled against a steep ridge, tents laid out to be set up, when Mazikeen starts to growl. It’s a low threatening rumble that sends Fenris’ hair on end. The mabari hound, still a pup, but already showing signs of her true size, pins her ears back as she snarls at the edge of the clearing. It’s the only warning they get.

There’s a pulse that pulls at Fenris’ lyrium and Sophie lets out a strangled cry, dropping the sticks in her arms, Vivienne’s magic stutters out in the middle of her wards, and Solas buckles, grabbing onto his staff.

“Templars!” He grits, face twisting into an angry scowl.

“Death to the maleficar!”

Voices shout from all around them, gleaming swords and armour catching the afternoon sun. Fenris’ heart leaps into his throat as he rises, runs to Sophie to plant himself between their blades and her as she fumbles for her bow.

“Sheathe your swords!” Cassandra shouts, ducking a swinging blade, backing away, blocking another strike with her shield. “We are Inquisition! Stand down!”

“I don’t think they’re listening, Seeker!” Varric’s crossbow clicks, sending a trio of bolts. Sera’s arrows follow. Still the templars come. Kaif screams a dalish challenge and Fenris knows enough to pick the word ‘friend’ as he shouts a challenge of his own, blade swinging.

“Kill them!” A templar shouts, voice raw, eyes wide within his helm. “Before they become abominations!” He sounds Ferelden, much like Hawke in the early years. Fenris punches him, markings flaring and he falls. What were they doing?

“We’re not mages shit-shirts!” Sera shouts dancing away from one, her little knife flashing fast and trailing blood behind. An arrow flies from Sophie’s bow, landing in the gap between the templar’s shoulder and torso as Maze snaps and harries at one advancing on Vivienne.

“They don’t care.” Fenris growls, beating one back with the pommel of his sword.

“Enough!” Cassandra strikes her sword against her shield. Something on the edge of Fenris’ awareness prickles like jabbing needles and the templar before him screams, dropping her blade, jerking back as she pulls at her own armour. More weapons hit the ground, voices cries of agony echoing around the clearing. Fenris spares a glance at the others, all confused save for Cassandra, stern and furious, and retreats to Sophie’s side. She blinks at him, eyes red and watery, pupils wide.

“Did they stop?” She asks, and it hurts to hear her voice so small. He wants so badly to pull her to him, hold her and tell her she’s safe. But she isn’t. She is a mage.

“It seems so.” Fenris says, glancing again at the Seeker. The cries stop, and she hauls the nearest templar to their feet, almost tearing off their helm to expose a face pale and young, cheeks marked with shiny burns.

“Where is your commanding officer?” Cassandra snarls and somehow the templar gets even paler. Good.

“S-she’s dead!” The boy rasps. Even with stubble he looks too young for the armour he wears. “W-”

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine,” She snarls, casting a warning look around at every templar struggling to rise to their feet. The party itself has closed ranks, weapons still in hand. “I stand with the Herald of Andraste and allies of the Inquisition. Under what authority do you act!”

The templar in the warrior’s grip flinches.

“We- we-”

“Speak!”

“The Maker’s!” Another cries, this the one Fenris had struck in the face. His nose is broken, bleeding profusely, and yet he glowers with defiance, eyeing Solas, Vivienne and finally Sophie before looking back to Cassandra. “These are apostates, and we have been charged by the Chantry, by the Maker, to protect the people!”

“By killing?” Sophie asks and Fenris grips her arm, though whether it’s to comfort or hold her back he can’t say. “Just ambushing a bunch of people, you sick fucks?”

“She has a point.” Solas says, voice hard. “Only three of us are mages, only one an apostate. I do believe Madame de Fer is still recognised as an Enchanter, and our third is her apprentice.”

“Correct.” Vivienne says, staring down the bleeding templar. “Foolish and clumsy, ser. Unbefitting of your rank and calling.” He bares his teeth in answer.

“Enough.” Cassandra says again, dropping the templar in her grip. “All of you have a choice. Continue as you are, unworthy of the order and your rank, or join the Inquisition. Protect the defenseless, fulfil your oaths!”

Fenris casts his gaze at the templars on their knees, all seven of them as they bow their heads like shamed children. All save the one that bleeds, who glares, lip curling as he eyes Kaif and the mark on her palm. He will be a problem.

As if planned, Maze pads through the group to sit pointedly in front of her mistress, teeth bared in a silent snarl.The softness of puppyhood is fading, and Fenris can see their future taking shape in the size of her paws and head. She gets the bleeding templar’s attention and he gapes before clamping his mouth shut.

“Forgive us.” One cries, olive skin slick with sweat, eyes bright and fevered. “Please. Forgive us. We thought- We were told-”

“Shut it, Derek!” The bleeding templar snarls. Cassandra spins on her heel, striding around to loom over him.

“I assume this is your plan.” She says, voice hard and low. “The rest of you stand. You may collect your weapons. Solas, send a signal to the scouts. Fenris,” she beckons. “Bring a rope.” Fenris swallows, glancing at Sophie. She trembles in his grip, but gives the slightest of nods when their eyes meet.

Cassandra corrals the group of younger templars with the scouts summoned by the flare of blue light Solas sent upwards. Under the Seeker’s hard gaze, they swore their swords to the Inquisition leaving the eldest, Mathias of the broken nose, to be marched away in ropes for trial.

They were not the first attacked by the group of eager knights. One of the scouts, a slender city elf with a savage scar across his chin speaks of bodies found, half burned and slain by swords. Farmers. Men and women. Fenris hears Sophie’s soft gasp, feels her sway at his back and her hand clutches his as they the others around them swear and argue, even Vivienne going terribly still.

They make camp elsewhere.

“Why did they do that?” Sophie asks hours later. It’s her and Fenris and Varric by the fire and the dwarf gives her an aching look that makes him seem so much older than he is.

“Probably because no one’s told them not to. Bunch of fanatic humans in skirts? Never ends well.” Varric says and offers Sophie his flask. She takes it, glancing at Fenris and it’s an effort of will not to go to her, to kiss the blankness from her eyes. She looks away first.

“Bullshit.” Sophie mutters and takes a swig and passes it back. “I mean, I get it. Fanatics think in black and white. You’re not them, so you’re the enemy.”

“You’ve known such before?” Fenris asks and Sophie gives him a humourless smile.

“I’m queer and pagan and pretty fucking weird so….Something like them. A couple times.” She reaches for his hand and he gives it. “Sorry. I was warned, but it’s another thing to have it actually happen.”

“None of us were prepared.” Fenris says, gentle, ignoring the knowing smile on Varric’s face. Let him know. “We should have been.”

“Blast should, Elf.” Varric grumbles and passes the flask to him. “They’re hurting people. We both know what happens when templars go too far, even if you think magic should be contained.”

Fenris scowls, sips the whiskey in Varric’s flask and offers it to Sophie. She stares at him instead.

“I…”

“Have a history with mages in power, I know.” She says without reproach, and squeezes his fingers. “And power without limits or consequence corrupts. But that is fucking _bullshit_. The more I hear about the whole templars in charge, circle thing, the more I’m sure it was a fuck up waiting to happen. And now you have trained warriors that think it’s their divine mandate to kill others just cos of a quirk of fate? Because they _might_ be dangerous?” Her lips twist and Fenris feels a tug on the lyrium in his skin before it lets go and Sophie exhales, muttering under her breath.

“Others are not as responsible as you.” Fenris says and Sophie pulls her fingers from his, hunching into her cloak. It hurts, and anger flares in his gut. “Magic is dangerous, you know this, Sophie. You’ve felt it-” Varric clears his throat.

“What I think Fenris is saying,” He says, giving a look that says _shut up before you stick your foot in it_. “It- it’s complicated and messy and hard to figure out without being from a whole other world. That doesn’t help you any, Vixen. But I don’t think any of us wanna think of you in a circle.” He pulls the flask from Fenris’ fingers.

“Isn’t that technically against the law?” Sophie asks, voice bitter and hard.

“So was running from my master.” Fenris says voice soft and Sophie goes still. Their eyes meet for a moment and she huffs out a sharp breath straightening.

“Cos the law is always based in morality and ethics.” She says with a sigh and stands. “I need to… I need to sleep.” She turns, striding towards their tent and Fenris cannot help but feel he's made an error.

“That was awkward.” Varric mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. He sets Fenris with a weary look. “Please don’t start these kinds of arguments again.”

“I wasn-” Fenris cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists. “I have no desire to quarrel with her.”

“Uh huh.” Varric sips his whiskey and caps the flask looking thoughtful. “So you’ve kissed her yet?” Fenris glares at the dwarf and he smirks. “You looked pretty put out when she broke contact. Almost pouty. I guessed. Good to know you actually did something.”

“Dwarf…” Fenris almost growls and Varric grins.

“Hey don’t be mad at me because you said the wrong thing. I didn’t make you do it.”

Fenris wants to groan, to pull his hair, to chase after Sophie and apologise. Instead he glares at the fire, counts his breaths. “No.” He says after thirty. “You didn’t. She knows well enough.”

“She’s scared.” Varric says tossing a stick into the flames. “I don’t think she’s been anything but scared since I met her.” Fenris frowns at him. Varric just shrugs. “I wouldn’t leave her waiting too long, Fenris. Go make up. I’ll cover for you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Fenris says.

“Start with ‘I’m sorry’. Go.” Varric waves him off. Fenris goes.

Sophie sits on her bedroll, rubbing her fingers through Maze’s fur as Fenris climbs through the opening and turns to tie it shut.

“Thought it was your watch.” She says, voice so perfectly bland it feels like a harsh reprimand. Fenris closes his eyes. He hurt her.

“Varric…” He sighs. “I am sorry, Sophie. I spoke without thinking.”

“It’s fine.”

“No,” Fenris turns to study her, a dim shape in the dark of their tent. “It’s not. I caused you hurt. You… You should have my support, not my…”

“Fen…” Sophie sighs and a hand reaches from the dark. “It’s a heavy issue. Come on. Apology accepted. It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Fenris asks but takes her hand anyway, lets her pull him to her side. Maze wuffs at him, paw scraping at his knee and he rubs at her head as Sophie leans against him.

“Yeah it is. Look, we bumped heads, you apologised. And I’m sorry too.” Her arm loops around his. “It’ll happen and it’s okay.”

“You seem very… accepting of us disagreeing.” Fenris leans his head, rubs his cheek against her hair.

“Yeah well… we’re two separate people. Not a hive mind. Disagreeing is going to happen. What matters is that we don’t get nasty. Or personal.” Maze’s head settles on Fenris’ thigh with a soft humph and Sophie sighs. “I know I’m gonna fuck up sooner or later, say or do something that hurts you. I don’t want to, but when I do I hope you let me apologise and make it up to you.”

Fenris lifts his head, fumbles until his fingers find her chin. “Of course.” He tilts her face and he can just see her smile.

“I hope so.” She says and tugs him down by his armour. Her lips brush against his, gentle and sweet, punctuated by a touch of teeth. He shivers, pulling her flush against him and Sophie hums, tongue gliding over his lips. A moment later she pulls away. “Maze, c’mon. Let Fenris take his armour off.”

They find the Grey Warden by a small lake, training a group of village men to defend themselves. He’s polite, if a bit rough, and regards Kaif with no small amount of reverence, blushing beneath his beard when she commends his work. He jokes with Sera and Varric, joins in the teasing of Solas and asks Fenris about his preference for greatswords with genuine interest.

“Wouldn’t think you’d be so damn fast with that thing.” He says as they walk their horses along a broader road. They follow a map in Cassandra’s hands towards rifts marked in green ink, the rest tasked with keeping an eye out for any hiding growth of elfroot or sign of bears.

“Most don’t.” Fenris answers, eyeing the brambles and bushes on his side. No brown fur. Good. It was spring, and Aveline had told him more than one story of hungry Ferelden bears mauling passers by. Blackwall laughs.

“Must surprise more than a few.” He gives a conspiratorial grin. “Especially when those lines light up.” He doesn’t pry like Fenris expects, and it’s refreshing. He decides he likes the warden that evening when he loses the first two rounds of Wicked grace with good humour before taking the whole pot with the next.

Of course, having another sword has its advantages. The Hinterlands is thick with desperate mages and enraged templars. But the rifts are worse. Every turn seems to reveal one, and with it waves of demons, terrors clawing from the earth, molten figures of rage, and worse. Despair is a floating wraith that darts away from Fenris’ sword, fading and reappearing on the other side of the clearing.

“Friggin’,” Sera shouts. “Hold still!” She shouts loosing another arrow at it as it focuses its attention on Kaif. She bleeds from claw marks scored across her chest, teeth bared as she bobs and weaves between shades.

“Pin it down!” Solas shouts, pulling a wall of ice from the earth. He shouts something else, the sound drowned out by the fractured tearing coming from the rift.

“Got it!” Sophie darts from cover, bow raised each arrow that flies is wreathed in flickering blue flame keeping the despair demon backed into the rock wall. It turns her head to her and the air around her _twists_. Her magic pulls at Fenris so sharp and hard it hurts and she ripples to the left, out of it’s focus. And too close to something else. The terror erupts from the shadows beneath her feet.

“Sophie, no!” Fenris is too slow, too far. She crashes into the grassy slope, bow flying from her hand. He sees it happen, the events of seconds stretching out. Fenris’ marks burn, his vision colouring blue as he charges to her side. Blackwall roars, banging his sword against his shield, closer but not close enough. Maze barks, darting between Kaif’s legs. A bolt of ice flies, swift and sure as the terror bends over Sophie, claws stretching, striking.

Sophie screams. The ice strikes the terror in the head, a moment later, Fenris strikes, stabbing his blade through its skull. It howls, and crumples, form dissolving into ichor. Fenris twists, feet slipping on the grass in his haste. Sophie is prone, lying still, blood soaking through the fabric of her gambeson.

“Shit!” Varric plants himself between them and the rift. “Shit, shit, shit, shit. Chuckles! We need a hand here!” His crossbow clicks, whirring as it spits out bolt after bolt at the last of the demons. Fenris fumbles at his belt, elfroot potion slipping from his armoured fingers. The linen bandages however, he gets in place, pressing them over Sophie’s wounds.

“Sophie? Sophie answer me…” Fenris calls, bending to peer at her face. Her brow wrinkles, eyes unfocused but moving.

“Fen?” She breathes, and silently Fenris thanks the Maker. Footsteps rush towards them, Vivienne casting a ward around them as she slides to her knee.

“She’s breathing?” she asks and Fenris nods.

“Potion, there..” He says and Vivienne nods, plucking it up, twisting off the cap. “Sit, pup, sit.” She says to Maze, who whines.

“Sophie, darling, eyes on me.” She says, and there’s will in her words, magic cloaking over them both. “Eyes on me. I need you to drink this.” Sophie answers with a whimper, starting to squirm. “Mouth open, darling.”

“Sophie please,” Fenris asks, wincing as Vivienne pulls at Sophie’s chin, pouring the healing tincture into her mouth. Sophie jerks, fighting before she starts to swallow. Ahead of them, the rift pluses, the tear sealing, the sky going clear.

“How bad is it?” Solas asks, and he’s there, gingerly easing Fenris’ hands from the bloodied linen. “Let me look.” He’s oddy ruffled, blue-grey eyes intent and focused as he meets Fenris’ gaze. “I will not let her pass. Let me look.”

“Elf… Come on.” Broad gloved hands pull at his shoulders, drawing Fenris back. Varric shakes his head. “Give them room.”

Numbly, Fenris lets him pull him away as the two mages summon magic to knit rent flesh, Cassandra bringing another elfroot potion to Sophie’s lips.

“How did she get over here?” Kaif asks. The blood on her is drying, wounds slathered with salve that tickles Fenris’ nose.

“Magic.” Fenris says. “Felt it.”

“How the blazes did she pull that off?” Varric asks. “Had to be an accident.”

“I’ve seen my Keeper do the same thing. A Dalish trick. “ She looks up at Fenris. “Never thought a shem- a human could.”

“Looked a lot like that zippy thing you do.” Sera says, nose wrinkled. “Freaky.”

Fenris opens his mouth to speak when Cassandra mutters something. “Fenris, you should come here. See if you can calm her.”

The Seeker gives him room, backing away so he can kneel by Sophie’s head, her hands on her shoulders. There’s blood soaking into the grass, bright in the sunlight.

“Sophie?” He asks and Sophie’s eyes, pupils wide and dark, leaving only a rim of polished iron at the very edge.

“Fenris, let me up. Please let me up.” Her fingers twist in the grass and Fenris lays his bloodied hands over hers.

“Sophie you must hold still. You’re safe.” Her shoulders jerk and Solas utters something in the elvish tongue.

“It hurts, I can’t breathe.” Sophie looks at him imploringly. “Please, I don’t-I don’t feel okay.”

“You’ve been hurt, Sophie.” Cassandra says.

“You’re being healed.” Fenris bends, touching his forehead to Sophie’s ear. “I will not let them harm you. You are safe, Sophie, I promise you.”

“Feel floaty.” Her voice is small. “Am I going away?”

“No. You’re here. Stay.” Please, Fenris prays. Please. He glances down. Her armour has been pulled away, her skin overlaid with herbal scented linen that traces from one shoulder to her side that sticks with the faint shimmer of Solas’ magic.

“Lift her.” He says. “We need to get her back to camp.” Fenris nods and after a glance at Cassandra, they gingerly lift Sophie from the earth. She sags, head lolling before she lets out a weird giggle.

“You gonna wrap me in bandages?” She asks, voice slurring. Sophie giggles. “I’ll need a pyramid.” Fasta vass.

“What did you give her, Seeker?” Varric asks, eyeing Sophie as Fenris gently lifts her into his arms, Cassandra easing her head onto his shoulder.

“Elfroot.” She snaps before bending and collecting her sword and shield. After a moment she picks up Fenris’ sword and he thanks her with a smile he doesn’t feel.

“I’ve seen it before.” Solas says, eyeing the woman in question. “Those from her world sometimes react to higher doses of elfroot rather strangely.”

“S’like old toby.” Sophie murmurs.

“Old wot?” Sera’s nose wrinkles again.

“Weed.” Sophie answers and giggles again. A strained smile appears on Solas’ face.

“It will wear off.” He says.

Camp is not far, nestled in a hollow next to the farm of a horse master named Dennet. Sophie mumbles against Fenris’ shoulder, slowly drifting into a boneless sleep. With the apostate’s help, he lays her to sleep it off on a bedroll laid out under an awning. Fenris sinks to sit beside her, reaching to brush the hair from Sophie’s face, pausing when he sees the now dry blood on his armoured fingers.

“I’ll watch her,” Solas says softly, crouching by them. “Clean yourself. I won’t leave until you return.” Wordless, Fenris nods. The water of the nearby stream is icy cold, leaves his fingers numb and clumsy as he pulls off his armour piece by piece. It’ll need cleaning and oiling while he keeps vigil.

Kneeling at the bank of the stream, Fenris runs his wet hands over his face, his hair, washing the sweat from his skin. He bathes, naked for a few minutes, before shaking the water off, shivering as he redresses and collects his armour. If his eyes burn it’s only because of the water dripping from his brow.

The camp is calm when he returns, and Solas, true to his word, has not moved save to drape Sophie in her cloak, running a hand over Mazikeen’s back. The dog stirs, padding over to Fenris as he sinks down onto the canvas laid out on the ground.

“Good girl.” He says, patting her side and the dog lays beside her mistress, tail beating a gentle rhythm against Fenris’ leg.

He’s being foolish. Sophie will be alright, Solas seems sure enough of that. She breathes, slow and steady and he matches his own breathing to it as he tends to his armour. The camp flows around them, the requisition officer speaking to Kaif over a piece of parchment, Sera and Blackwall trading bawdy jokes despite Vivienne’s disapproval. Varric ropes them into a card game that Solas joins after some pestering. Cassandra brings Fenris a plate of food and Sophie sleeps on, even when he carries her into their tent. When all drift to sleep, save those keeping watch, Fenris lays beside her and lets her breathing lull him to sleep.

⧫

The elfroot hanger is not as fun as ‘Old Toby’. Sophie’s mouth is dry and her head aches, her stomach rolling with nausea born from hunger. She wakes to tea, and the scent of bacon, to Fenris’ worried eyes, and the quiet relief as he helps her sit up.

There’s smiles when she emerges and joins the rest for breakfast, Solas playing a pretty thorough doctor as Sophie sips her tea.

“There will be scars,” he says after checking her wounds. “That we could not help.”

“I’m alive, so can’t complain.”

“Good answer.” Cassandra says with a smile holding a mug of tea. “Feeling better?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Sera says from the other side of the fire. “You got kinda…” Her face goes slack. “Oooh, twitter twitter. Fenris oooh.” Sophie’s cheeks flush and she groans. To her side, Fenris sighs and takes her hand.

“I was far from subtle.” He says, apologetic.

Varric snorts. “Neither of you were.”

“The elfroot…” Cassandra starts.

“Hit like weed. I think I remember that.” Sophie sips at the tea, tastes a little elfroot with the honey. “Sorry I freaked out the way I did.”

“Pish.” Vivienne sniffs, sitting beside Sophie. “You were in pain and frightened. You have nothing to apologise for.” Vivienne’s touch is brisk but gentle and she soothes a hand down Sophie’s back. “It is battle, darling. Sometimes they get through our guard.”

“Or a dumbass lets herself get distracted.” Sophie says. Her tongue tingles but her head stays clear. Thank fuck.

Vivienne chuckles. “Or that. I did see what you managed to do. Marvellous trick. We’ll have to train you on that in the future.”

“Until then, no fancy magics.” Varric says over a cup of his own. “I don’t think Bianca could take the worry.”

“Oh so you didn’t just think it was funny to see me stoned?” Sophie asks. She sways and Fenris is there, tugging her to lean against him. Varric smiles gently.

“Oh that was hilarious. No idea what half of that meant but,” He spreads his hands wide. “It was entertaining.”

“Wunderbar. So glad to be of service.” Sophie says dryly, and gets the laughter she’s hoping for. The embarrassment doesn’t fade, even as attention shifts away from her.

By the next day, they come to a small village, most of them on foot, Sophie on horseback at Kaif’s insistence. Blood loss, the dalish elf says, patting Sophie’s leg. She needs to recover.

The Crossroads are marked by roadsides and old signs of conflict, broken ruins and eerie structures of ice that mist in the sunlight. Villagers gather, cheer when they see Kaif, children running and laughing as the party takes the road through the town. At the far edge, the massive qunari, the Iron Bull greets them with a fierce grin.

“Nice to see ya, boss.” He says to Kaif, scans the rest with his eye. Scars mark his face and body, his broad torso bare beneath a harness covering one shoulder.

“Bull,” Kaif greets, and waves at the group. “Everyone, everyone, The Iron Bull. Play nice.” She says.

“Hi,” Bull says and grins. His eye settles on Sophie and he winks. At least she assumes it’s a wink.

“I think we should keep moving.” Cassandra says. “We’ve put this off long enough.”

Kaif nods. “Yeah, I know.”

Sophie climbs off her horse, passing the reins to an Inquisition agent and falls in at Fenris’ side.

Bull fits himself into the group like he’s meant to be there. Which, considering the whole qunari spy thing makes perfect sense. He jokes with Sera and Blackwall, pokes a little at Solas, compares weapons with Fenris, and trades quips with Varric. When he falls in beside Sophie, he waves his hand.

“Nice bow.” He says, eyeing her weapon.

“Thank you,” Sophie says looking up, very much up, at Bull. This close, it’s hard not to be intimidated. On horseback, they’d be at eye level, but on foot, Bull towers over her, and his hand could easily hold her head like an egg.

“No problem. So, otherworlder, right? What’s your deal?” He asks.

“Oh, Vixen is a bit of a surprise.” Varric says, falling back to join them. “You think she’s one thing, and then she’s throwing your ass into a river.”

Sophie groans. “That was one time!”

“Vixen huh?” Bull peers down at her.

“His nickname for me. You’ll get one soon.” Sophie says sticking her tongue out at the dwarf. “I’m Sophie.”

“You have a habit of throwing people into rivers?” Bull asks, leaning down.

“Only if they ask nicely.” Sophie answers and Bull throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, I like you. You’re quick.”

“Quicker than you know.” Fenris mutters low under his breath, Sophie glances at him, and he shakes his head, scowling.

“Heh. I guess I’ll see.” Bull says and lengthens his stride pulling ahead.

Redcliffe comes into view in the afternoon, tall stone walls surrounding the town proper and an actual freaking castle in the middle. Okay so maybe it’s a small city. The stone is old and grey, mottled with green growth, the gate stands closed, barred by an actual portcullis.

“Oh, very medieval.” Sophie says as they climb up the road. Fenris chuckles beside her.

“Is that a rift before the gates?” Cassandra asks. Sophie blanches, her back itching along her new scars. Great, more demons.

Kaif groans. “Wonderful.” She unsheathes her weapons. Fenris grasps Sophie’s wrist for a moment, gently squeezing.

“Perhaps you should stay back.” He says.

“Yeah, stick with me, Vixen.” Varric says, pulling Bianca from her harness. “Watch my back.”

“Got it.” Sophie says.

The group spreads out, advances on the rift. Sophie sticks with Varric. The rift tears open, demons pour out.

It’s… Wrong. Demons blur forward and back, Beside her Varric slows to a crawl.

“Shit! Fucking…” Sophie spins ducking beneath a swinging moving eerily slow. A moment later it speeds up, disintegrating.

“Oh that wasn’t right.” Varric groans, shaking his head.

“You’re telling me,” Sophie pulls him by his jacket collar, out of the way of a gangly terror and pivots, kicking its leg at the knee. It buckles, stumbles and it’s enough for her to go on the offensive, to strike an arrow into its face and it crumbles.

The rift ripples, and before her eyes, the terror jerks rises in reverse, it’s wounds healing. “Fucks sake.” Sophie stabs at it again and it swipes forcing her to dart out of the way.

Bull roars, his axe cleaving the terror in two. “Damn demon shit. You alright, little fox?”

“Fine, behind you!” Bull spins and oh holy shit is he fast. The rage demon doesn’t stand a chance. Bull jabs the end of his great axe into the demon's front, steps to the side and turns, his great bulk twist, carrying the axe with him. He sends the demon flying right into Blackwall’s sword. Theory confirmed, Bull is terrifyingly strong.

Sophie watches him dive back into the fray, ducking under a sickly violet bolt from a shade. Solas blasts it apart and Kaif seals the rift and it’s over. Sophie’s ears pop, her back aches viciously.

“That sucked.” She groans to Varric. He frowns down at the fading demonic remains.

“Yeah. Seen anything like that?” He asks.

“No. You?”

“Not before this.” Varric sighs. “Come on.” They trudge down the grassy slope back to the group, Fenris coming to meet them.

“Are you alright?” He asks. Sophie nods, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Yeah.” She looks up at the space where the rift was. “The fuck was that?”

“A temporal disturbance.” Solas says, leaning on his staff, frowning. “Very odd.”

“Very annoying.” Kaif says, cleaning the ichor from her blades. The sound of movement draws their attention to the gates, a guard backing away from the portcullis.

“The rift is sealed!” He cries. “Open the gate!” Gears grind, the metal grate rising. The group pulls together, Kaif at the head. Sophie looks up at Fenris, close beside her.

“Is it too late to say I have a bad feeling about this?” She asks. Fenris sighs, gives her shoulder a squeeze.

“Maybe for us.” He says with a dry smile.

The group troops through the archway into Redcliffe, the road winding down a slope to the town proper. An Inquisition scout on browns and greens runs to meet Kaif.

“Herald! You are not expected!”

Sophie and Fenris share a look. Shit.

“We were invited by Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Kaif says and the scout shakes their head.

“The Grand Enchanter is not in command here.”

“Then who is?” Kaif demands. The scout opens her mouth, shakes her head and turns to gesture to an approaching elven mage. Fenris stiffens and Sophie’s stomach starts to sink, reaching for his hand.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly.” Beside Sophie, Fenris hisses under his breath, fingers tightening around hers. Magister. Tevinter. Lyssa gives Kaif a sickly sweet smile. “But you are welcome to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona in the meantime.” She dips into a small bow and turns away.

“Well that can’t be good.” Varric mutters.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Cassandra says, glancing after Lyssa. “We sent word we were on our way. That we would be here.”

“Fiona invited us.” Kaif grimaces, rubbing at her forehead. “And now a magister is in charge.” Fenris pushes around Blackwall, striding to Kaif.

“I would not trust this magister, nor take his word at face value.” He says, voice so bitter Sophie can almost taste it. “His ilk crave power above all else, and will do near anything to achieve it.”

Kaif rubs her jaw. “Any idea how he could have placed himself in power here?” She asks. Fenris’ expression darkens, a sneer twisting his lips.

“It could be anything. Blood magic is common in the empire. I expect no less.” He says, turning his glare on Lyssa standing down the hill. Sophie bites her lips, remembering the dazed lull that turned her into a passive, compliant drone.

“Are you so certain of their ways?” Solas asks. Fenris turns his glare on him.

“I have lived it.”

Kaif leads them down to the town proper, ignoring the curious glances sent their way. Sophie keeps her head cocked, listening to the conversations they pass. A mother and daughter argue about whether to stay or leave, about non-mages being forced from the town. Others complain about the presence of mages, the absence of the Arl. The more she hears, the worse she feels, gripping her bow tight like a lifeline. She keeps her eyes on Fenris, his shoulders tight, posture tense and wary. She has no idea how to help him, and it adds to the growing worry.

Varric gives her what is supposed to be a reassuring glance, but he seems as concerned as she, lengthening his stride to catch up with Fenris. Sera bumps Sophie’s arm.

“What’s his deal?” She asks, thankfully, much quieter than her normal volume.

“He was a slave to a magister.” Sophie says, shaking her head to cut off the next question, Sera’s eyes going wide before scowling. “Ask him, but don’t expect a pleasant answer.”

“Fucking tits.” She mutters. Sera scratches at her hair, looking sheepish at Sophie. “I won’t hassle him, yeah? Just wanted to know.”

Sophie smiles, patting Sera’s back. “No worries.” As they go down, the more houses appear, wood and stone, humble for the most part, often decorated with figures of dogs. Mabari. Maze keeps close, tail wagging, happy as can be as she trots beside Sophie. Some people point, exclaim when they see her, but they always smile. They pass by the docks, and Kaif pauses and everyone gathers.

“There’s too many of us to go into the tavern as we are. Anyone willing to keep watch on things out here?”

Bull and Sera stick their hands up first.

“I don’t mind,” Sera says. “I don’t really wanna go in there.”

“I have a bad enough time with Vints as it is.” Bull says, crossing his arms. “You don’t want me in there, boss, trust me.”

Kaif nods, sighing. She looks at Fenris. “You don’t need to come in.”

He shakes his head. “I have nothing to shy away from. I would rather be of aid.”

“Alright.” Kaif looks around the group. “Cassandra, Vivienne, Blackwall, I want you with me. Varric, you too. The rest, ask around, see what you can find out from people.”

Sophie loops around the group to Fenris, gingerly slipping her hand in his. The harsh look on his face eases. “Hey,” She says. “Can I do anything?”

Fenris huffs a quiet laugh. “Be safe. That is all I can ask.” The way he looks at her is soft, warm. It steadies her.

“You too, alright?” Sophie glances at the waiting group. “Please.” Fenris smiles and he lifts his fingers to brush stray strands of hair from her face.

“I will.” He says and brushes his lips over hers before leaving to join the others.

Asking around doesn’t prove much help. As happy as folk are to speak to the woman with the mabari at her side, what they have to say is confusing. The Magister arrived just after the breach tore open, one woman tells her, rubbing at Maze’s head. The pup takes the affection happily, tail beating against the ground.

“So soon?” Sophie asks.

“Within days.” The woman answers scowling up at the castle. “He sent the Arl away. Now there are mages everywhere,” she hesitates, glancing at Sophie. She gives her the best smile she can manage.

“It’s okay. I understand.” She says and the woman relaxes, smiling.

“They don’t cause any problem, they just, there’s so many is all. And with no templars if the worst should happen?”

Sophie gently pats Maze’s coat covered back and the hound wuffs, leaning back into her touch.

“Yeah. Thank you, you’ve been so helpful.” Sophie says and the woman beams at her, waves her off as Sophie heads back to the waiting Bull sitting on a barrel.

“Find anything useful?” He asks, smiling down at Maze as she trots to drink from a bowl of water he’s set on the ground..

“Fuck all.” Sophie answers. “It’s the same everywhere. Breach, magister turns up, people are worried,”

“At least you can get people to talk to ya.” Bull says with a deprecating smile. The villagers milling around the small market area gave him a wide berth, shooting furtive glances his way.

“That makes shit tricky, yeah.” Sophie says and drops down onto a bench. “Get a lot of hassle for that?”

Bull chuckles. “Depends on where I am, little fox.” Sophie frowns at the nickname and he shrugs. “What? You’re tiny. Quick. Hair looks a little red in the sunlight. Kind of.”

Sophie laughs, rubbing a hand over her hair. It’s grown and feels greasy and unwashed. It’s been a couple of days since they’ve last been able to bathe. But hey, she’s not the only one looking unkempt.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll allow it.” She says, eyeing the tavern. Twenty minutes. No sign of Kaif or- Her gaze settles on a group, a tall tanned man in the most ridiculous red ensemble she has ever seen strides along the road circled by guards and a young man.

Bull sucks air in through his teeth. “Fucking ‘Vints.”

“That’s him you think?” Sophie asks, standing. At the steps, the magister in red casts his gaze around. His gaze finds her, lingers, and Sophie thinks she sees a smile. Her stomach clenches.

“Oh that’s a ‘Vint Magister alright.” Bull rumbles. Wood creaks as he stands, planting his feet. “Fenris was a ‘Vint slave, right?”

“Yeah.” Sophie says watching the Magister head into the building, his guards and the younger man with him. “He killed him.”

“Good to hear. Boss is in good hands then.” Bull says and grunts as he sits again. Sera drops onto the bench from the high wall behind her and groans.

“Useless feckin’, blight shited crap! No one knows anything.” She grumps.

“Welp.” Sophie can’t pull her eyes away from the tavern. She should have gone with Fenris.

“You find anything.” Sera asks. Her foot kicks at Sophie’s leg.

“Fuck all.” Sophie says, tapping her fingers on her weapon. What the fuck is happening in there?

“Unfortunately, I have found much the same,” Solas’ smooth calm voice pulls her attention away for a moment. He looks uncomfortable, scanning the market around them. “Now we have more questions than answers.”

“Just our fucking luck.” Bull mumbles. “Shit. Look.” The doors to the tavern open, and out comes the Magister, supporting the young man that walked beside him.

“Schiesse. You think someone threw a punch?” Sophie asks.

“No, look,” Solas says. The guards with the magister moved in a tight group, though their hands were free of weapons. “It seems that man is ill.”

Worrying her lip, Sophie flicks her gaze back to the tavern. Cassandra steps out of the doors, frowning after the Magister and his men. Fuck it.

“I’m gonna go meet them.” Sophie says, shouldering her glaive. “Come on, Maze.”

If the others follow, Sophie doesn’t notice, slipping through villagers milling around on the street. By the time the tavern comes back in sight, and everyone’s outside, heading for the market, Fenris among them. The glare on his face fades when he sees her, and she can breathe again.

“What happened?” She asks, as Fenris crosses the space between them.

Kaif scowls, showing teeth. “He got the mages. All of them. Convinced them to follow him and the empire. Stupid idiots.” Sophie inches closer to Fenris, and he only shakes his head, dark gaze directed at the castle.

“Troublesome news,” Solas says, trailing to a stop by Kaif. “And the Grand Enchanter?”

“Doesn’t remember her meeting with the Herald in Val Royeaux,” Vivienne says, disdainful. “As if it never occurred.”

“How the hell is that possible?” Varric asks. “I was there, I remember her talking to Nimble.”

“As do I.” Cassandra says. “Solas, do you think this is perhaps linked to the odd rift we encountered at the gate?”

“Time travel with magic is impossible,” Vivienne declares. “Countless have tired.”

“And yet, somehow, Magister Alexius arrived here mere days after the opening of the breach.” Solas counters. “Direct from Tevinter.”

“He’d have to be on his way already to make it in time,” Sophie says.

“Or he used magic.” Fenris says.

Solas nods. “Precisely.”

“That’s not the only thing.” Kaif says with a sigh, holding up a scrap of parchment. “His son, Felix, fell into me, handed me this.”

“Whassit say?” Sera asks.

“Come to the Chantry, you are in danger.” Kaif reads, voice low. She crumbles the note and stuffs it into a pocket. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnnn.


	16. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always love to my beta and everyone that leaves comments. This one is a bit rougher than usual.
> 
> There's a Trigger Warning for this chapter concerning Death and Blood and the Dark Future. It will be flagged in the chapter itself and isn't at all long. Just. Dark.
> 
> Also... Smut. Right at the end.

** Chapter 16 **

The chantry is large, imposing, it’s stone walls and the gardens surrounding it well tended. Before the doors, there’s a pause, the group checking their weapons. Sophie pulls four arrows from her quiver, three for her bow hand, the last, nocked and ready. Fenris nods, and leans close to her ear.

“Stay behind me and be aware.” He says, warm breath sending a shiver down her back. Gods that voice. Cheeks warming, Sophie nods, meeting his gaze for a moment. His lips are pressed into a hard line and his eyes are dark, brows set with worry, but for a moment it all softens as he brushes stray hair from her cheek. “Be safe?” Fenris asks, armoured fingers lingering against her skin and she can’t help lean it.

“I will.”

“We all ready?” Kaif asks, scanning the group. At the murmur of ascent, she nods and eases one of the great doors open wide enough to slip in.

Eerie green light flickers on the pews and stone pillars, dancing in time with the how of pillars and the crack and sizzle of magic. A rift. _Wunderbar._ The group spreads out, Sophie edging to the side until she catches sight of the mage in tan leather striking down the last demon.

“Good! You’re finally here!” He calls, straightening, tall and athletic, dark haired with a delicately curled moustache over full lips. His voice is like the fake Umber’s, refined, and smooth consonants. “Now help me close this would you?” The rift pulses, rippling and Varric beside her sighs.

“Here we go again.”

Like the last, the rift is strange, time weaves forward and back. Sophie snarls as a demon bears down on her, shrugging two arrows.

“Fucking…” Pulling another free, she exhales, summons the feel of lightning, bright and tingly like bad pins and needles shuddering down her arm. The scent of ozone bursts into the air as she draws, aiming to bounce her arrow of the demon in front of her into another harrying Cassandra. She lets go and the races free, curling from one to the other to the next. Somewhere, Varric whoops.

“That’s it, Vixen, light them up.” He shouts and despite herself, Sophie grins, weaving around a shade.

Once Kaif seals the rift, and Sophie can catch her breath, she eyes the new mage as he rolls his shoulders, straightening, eyeing the space where the rift once hung. He brushes a spec of something from his clothes which looked a hell of a lot like the design love child of a Kingdom Heart’s character and a leather kinkster with a deep and abiding passion for tan.

“Fascinating.” He says turning. “How does that work, exactly?” Sophie flicks her gaze at the others, all regarding the mage with variations on curiosity and distrust.

“Pavus.” Fenris mutters. He didn’t put away his weapon, placing himself squarely between Sophie and the mage.

“You know him?” She asks.

“We’ve met.” He answers, the mage’s gaze finding him. His eyes widen.

“Maker. So we have.” He breathes, inclining his head in the slightest of nods. “To the rest of you, Dorian of House Pavis, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“An altus,” Fenris says. “Be cautious.”

Dorian flashes him a quick smile. “Suspicious friends you have, though I can understand why this one is so prickly.” He waves to Fenris and Sophie slips forward as Fenris bristles, catching his arm before he can take a step. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - As I’m sure you can imagine.”

Kaif eyes Dorian, visibly unimpressed. “I was expecting Felix to be here.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian answers, peering at the mark on her hand before turning his gaze to the shadowed walls. “He was to give you the note then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“And you’re not a magister?” Sophie asks and Dorian sighs.

“No,” He answers at the same moment Fenris says the same. “As your companion said, I’m an Atus. I’m a mage from Tevinter, not a magister, I know you southerners use those interchangeably-”

“His father would be the magister.” Fenris says, stepping forward, closer to Kaif. “Halward.”

“Correct.” Dorian answers, lips twisting. “Now that we have _that_ cleared up-”

“Are you the one that sent the note?” Kaif cuts in, shooting Fenris a frown.

“I am,” Dorian says. “Someone had to warn you, after all. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious without the note.” He glances at the rest of the group. “Let’s start with Alexius stealing the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“Fascinating if true,” Solas says, eyeing Dorian. “And almost certainly dangerous.”

“Messing with time usually is.” Sophie mutters.

“The rift you closed here,” Dorian says. “You saw how it twisted time around itself? Soon there’ll be more like it, appearing further and further away from Redcliffe.”

“Like a ripple effect.” Sophie says, glancing at Solas. “Something with that kind of influence, twisting time, that can’t be stable at all.” Solas nods, lips pursing.

“Precisely.” Says Dorian, regarding Sophie for a moment with a brief smile that fades fast. “It’s wildly unstable. And it’s unravelling the world.” Silence. Sophie’s heart hammers in her throat as she considers it, a pop culture's wealth of time shenanigans blurring through her head. Marty McFly slowly fading, the TARDIS screaming… _Shit._

Kaif sighs. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith.” She says gesturing with her blade.

“I know what I’m talking about.” Dorian says, scowling. “I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice it was still theory. Alexius could never get it to work!”

“And yet he has.” Fenris says, voice low and Kaif gives him another warning look as far to their right, Varric sighs.

“Yes, what I don’t understand is why?” Dorian says, rubbing his chin. “Tearing time to shreds for a few hundred lackeys.”

Footsteps scraped on stone and the younger man Alexius had walked from the tavern stepped free of the shadows. “It wasn’t for them.” Dorian brightens and Sophie takes the chance to move to stand beside Fenris and cast him a questioning frown. He shakes his head, scowling darkly but loosens his shoulders with a huff.

“Took you long enough.” Dorian says, smiling. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” The one that must be Felix says with a wry smile before turning his focus on Kaif. “My father has joined a cult. Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves the ‘Venatori’.” Sophie stiffens, and beside her Fenris sucks in a sharp breath. “And I can tell you,” Felix continues, “ whatever he’s done for them, he’s done to get to you.”

Kaif’s expression darkens. “Why would he go to such efforts for me?”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix says. “All of them are. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“And you can close the rifts.” Dorian says. “Maybe there’s a connection. Perhaps you’re a threat to them.”

“If the venatori are behind the rifts or the breach in the sky, they’re worse than I thought.” Felix rubs at his short cropped hair, looking exhausted. Sophie frowns, a niggling thought working itself free in her head,

“Is that all they’re obsessed with?” She asks, and the heads of both men snap to her. “The Herald or would that also include people from the rifts.” Dorian’s eyes wide, his brows lifting as he seems to consider her again and Felix blinks. It takes effort not to edge behind Fenris.

“AH, so that would make you one of them?” He glances at Felix.

“There’s been some mention of them searching for people from rifts.” He says and gives Sophie an apologetic lift of his shoulders. “I don’t know why. But I don’t think my father seeks anyone else but the Herald.”

“Alexius is your father.” Cassandra says striding forward. “Why work against him like this?”

Felix actually smiles. “The same reason Dorian works against him. I love my father. And I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing is madness. For his own sake you have to stop him.” Beside Sophie Fenris bristles and Sophie grabs his hand. His markings flare a moment before his gaze finds hers and he huffs, turning a hard gaze onto Felix.

“It seems no different from the daily madness of Minrathous.” He grits out and Felix backs away a step, looking away. Dorian however straightens, fixing Fenris with a glare of his own.

“It would also be nice if Alexius didn’t rip a hole in time.” He says after a long moment. “There’s already one in the sky.”

“All this for me.” Kaif snaps, sheathing her blades. “Well now we know it’s a trap. That turns things in our favour.”

“I agree.” Dorian says and slowly pulls his focus from Fenris. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way. But whenever you're ready to deal with it, I’d like to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He spares Fenris a last look before turning away. “Oh and Felix, try not to get yourself killed, alright?”

Felix sighs. “There’s worse things than death, my friend.” The magister’s son inclines his head to Kaif before retreating the way he came.

In the quiet comes a sigh as Varric returns Bianca to his back. “Well that went well.”

Cassandra scowls, turning to look at Fenris. “It almost didn’t.”

“You do not know their ilk.” He retorts sharply.

“Fen,” Sophie says gently, tugging at his arm.

“They did take a risk to speak with us,” Solas says. “The betrayal of one’s father or mentor is no easy thing.”

“Doesn’t stop ‘em from Being ‘Vints.” Bull’s voice rumbles from the back of the group. He stands closest to the doors, strong arms crossed over his immense chest. “He’s right. Better to be careful in my book.”

Cassandra turns to glower at him. “You are a Qunari spy.”

Bull grins. “I am. And I said that upfront.”

“Enough!” Kaif’s voice rings out. She stares down each member of the group, lingering the longest on Fenris and Cassandra like a mother reprimanding her children. “We’re leaving. We will discuss this at camp.” She snaps striding through the group and heading for the doors. The rest turn to follow. Save for Fenris and Sophie.

Sophie lets out a sigh. “Fen-” He shakes his head, gently pulling himself free from her hand before striding through the group and slipping through the doors after Bull. Sophie’s heart clenches, her eyes stinging enough she has to wipe at her face. _Come on not now._ Something taps her arm, Varric holding up a handkerchief.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Varric says gently. “Soon as a mage from Tevinter got involved...” He sighs, looking away as Sophie wipes tears from her burning cheeks.

“I know. I know he has every reason to be on guard, and angry and on edge…” She says sniffing.

“But it hurt.” The dwarf looks up at her, smiling gently, patting a gloved hand on her back. “Him walking off. He’ll be back, Sophie. Elf just needs some time to pull himself together.”

“Yeah. I guessed.” Sophie wipes at her face again and glances around the chantry for any of her arrows. She could only find one and it was broken, snapped in half, likely by someone’s boot. She bends to collect the arrow head and ets Varric lead her back into the sunlight.

Everyone was quiet on the way out of Redcliffe, a few of their number lingering behind to add to their stores, to ask questions. Varric kept her moving, chatting away about one story or another, mostly centered around Hawke. If anyone saw her upset, no one said a damn thing, for which Sophie is grateful.

Getting back to camp by the Crossroads is a relief, and after divesting herself of her armour, she finds the noise of camp too loud. So she flees. Taking Maze, her tea bag, and a small pot of steaming water and finds herself a stretch of long grass on a gentle slope. One side is hedged by a low rock wall, the other by a thin copse of trees that hid the camp from casual view. There she sits, setting her pot of water on a rock and spoons some tea leaves into a strainer. As it steeps, Sophie watches Maze sniff her way through the grass, the Mabari’s tail whipping at the long grass as she goes.

It’s quiet, the camp a distant murmur, only the wind and birds and the sound of the rams calling to one and another. From here Sophie can see the edge of the village, children playing, cooking fires rising into the afternoon sky, Inquisition troops watching the road beside local volunteers.

By the time she pours her first cup, footsteps whisper through the grass. Sophie looks up, and her heart sags. Kaif gives her sheepish smile.

“Can I join you?” She asks. Sophie nods, and the lithe woman sits in the grass beside her, accepting Sophie’s cup with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No worries.” Sophie answers, pouring herself another cup. The wood warms in her hand, the scent of green tea rising in the steam. She breathes it in, smiling as Maze trots over, thrusting her big head at Kaif for pats before laying down with a big sigh.

“Is this a mistake?” Kaif asks. She cradles her cup in her tanned hands, looking down at the village with her large bright green eyes. “Trusting this… Dorian?” Her gaze turns to Sophie, tattooed features warm in the afternoon sunlight. Sophie looks away.

“I don’t know.” Sophie says bringing her cup up to her lips to a tentative sip. Too hot. “Solas is right. They’re taking a big risk, and what this Alexius is doing? I don’t think that’s something we can walk away from without trying to stop.”

“As the inquisition?” Kaif asks, lips pulling into a wry smile.

“I think… as people. He’s tearing time apart. I heard Cassandra say he’s basically indentured every one of those mages into the Tevinter army like almost slave soldiers. He’s after you…” Sophie rubs her thumb along the edge of her cup, watching the grass sway. “I’m no one. But I don’t see this ending well if we just…”

“Let it happen.” Kaif says and blows on her tea. “I was just a hunter for my clan. I’m only someone because of this.” She mutters, glaring at the flickering scar in the palm of her hand. “And all because of it I feel like I'm being torn apart. Everyone wants something of me. Cassandra wants me to be her Herald, they want me to bow to their prophet, to be anything but dalish. No one.” She licks her lips, sips the tea and after a moment laughs. “This is good. You should share this with Solas. He doesn’t like tea.”

“My gods. How can we trust him?” Sophie deadpans and Kaif smiles.

“Unfortunately,” she says, smile dimming. “I don’t think either of us get to be no one right now. Not since the Conclave. Not since you arrived.”

“So...” Sophie sips her tea. It’s warm, and soothing and the warmth of it sinks through her.

“Do you think we can trust that Dorian wants to stop Alexius?” Kaif asks. Biting her lip, Sophie watches a flock of birds rise from the distance. Bias aside, Dorian has been open about his goals, his connections to Alexius, his thoughts on the matter. He’d risked discovery. Likely danger or worse if he was caught.

“That far at least.” Sophie answers. “It’s too convoluted to be a ploy. And like Bull, he’s been upfront far as I can tell.” Kaif nods, and drains her cup in a long slow pull. She sighs after and hands it back. As she stands, Maze rises with her, circling around the smaller woman.

“Alright. When Fenris gets back…” She rubs a hand over her face turning. She smirks. “Rather, when you and Fenris get back, I’ll speak with him.” Kaif pats Sophie’s shoulder as she twists. Up the hill, striding with relaxed ease, is Fenris. He pauses a moment, perhaps hesitating before shaking his head and continuing. Maze barks, bolting to meet him and for a moment, he grins, bending to greet her with his hands and unheard words. Sophie’s stomach twists, glad to see him, but still hurting.

“Sure.” She says, and waves Kaif off. Turning back, Sophie refills her cup and listens to the sound of grass and Maze making happy playful sounds as she gambols back down the slope to Sophie. “Hi bubba.” Sophie coos as the dog slides down the grass on her side. She wiggles onto her back, showing shades of grey and a fluffy belly. It’s as soft as it looks, and Maze woofs gently, paws gently kicking in the air. “Hey, you like belly rubs do you? Do you?” Sophie asks and Maze closes her eyes in doggy bliss.

“She seems to enjoy it a great deal.” Fenris says gently. When Sophie looks up, he’s close enough to touch, smiling gently though his brows are furrowed. “May I sit?”

“Of course, Fen. Come on.” Sophie shifts to the side, making room beside her and he sinks down, folding long legs until he’s but an inch from her. Out of his armour he seems smaller, slimmer, and so much lighter despite the worry on his face. He opens his mouth and Sophie offers her cup. “It’s alright. Varric told me you needed time. And it’s no surprise you’d need time after that. None.”

Fenris sighs, taking the cup and nods. “Still, I should have mastered my own tongue. And more, I should not have left you like that.”

“Maybe.” Sophie pours more tea and with a little focus, and a breath of hair, gets it steaming again. “But you needed time, right? To calm down?”

Fenris lips press together and he nods. “That does not change that I should have left you with more than silence.”

“It’s okay.” Sophie says, holding up her fingers when Feris opens his mouth to speak again. “It’s alright, Fen, you did what you needed to. All you can do is do something else next time, right?” Fenris sighs, and takes her hand, bringing it to his face, palm to cheek.

“I thought… I hoped… that I would fare better. And yet, I was so…” He closes his eyes. “Angry. With myself. With them. Simply for being…”

“Feelings don’t have to make sense. I know.” His cheek is soft and warm beneath her thumb and Fenris smiles through damp eyes. He turns his face and presses his lips to her palm.

“I have something for you.” Fenris says, pulling away. He tugs something from his belt and offers it, a small bundle wrapped in light linen dyed a lovely shade of bluish grey.

“Fen, you didn’t have to. Not as an apology” It’s good linen, smooth and new, tightly woven. “A scarf?” Fenris smiles, looking sheepish and so much younger.

“A sash.” He says sipping his tea and rubbing a hand down Maze’s side. “And it is not an apology. It is simply a gift.” Sophie shakes her head and unwraps it, rolling fabric until the wooden comb falls into her lap. Carved from a single piece of golden wood, polished and gleaming and still smelling of beeswax, a curving design of flowing lines and leaves. She lifts it up, turning it over in her fingers.

“Fenris…” He glances at her. “This is beautiful.” Sophie gently sets it and the cloth aside and turns back just in time to meet his lips. They’re gentle, a little chapped by wind and Sophie shivers, leaning in. Strong arms pull her to his lean chest, fingers threading into her loose hair and Sophie sighs, looping her arms around his shoulders, fingers playing along the soft haris at the nape of his neck. The lyrium in his skin tingles against hers, and when he pulls back, Sophie is breathless.

Fenris leans his forehead to hers, calloused fingers tracing over her cheek. “ _You_ are beautiful.” Sophie snorts, bumping her nose against his.

“So are you.” She says and Fenris huffs, shaking his head. “You are! You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.” Those eyes meet hers, green, amazingly green like most and thick forest and above all gentle and warm. “Your freckles. And your hair,” She leans back enough to stroke her fingers through his tousled hair. “It’s fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” Fenris asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re ridiculous.” His arms settle around her waist, her hips, squeezing.

“Yep.” She pecks his lips, one, twice, and more over his cheek, his nose until Fenris laughs and pulls her down onto the grass. He rolls them until he leans over her, kissing along her jaw while one hand dances over her middle. Sophie giggles batting the hand away. “Hey, no tickling!”

“I am not tickling you.” Fenris says and punctuates it with a soft kiss to her lips. His tongue glides against her lips and Sophie shudders, mouth parting. _Oh,_ he tastes of tea and Fenris, warm and very comforting and real as he lays himself against her, the muscles under his clothes shifting and flexing under Sophie’s hands. The grass at her back is cool and fragrant, tickling the back of her neck but the rest of her is warm, heat fanned higher by his lips on hers, his fingers trailing over front, lifting over her breasts to press over her belly, her waist, her hip. Sophie whimpers into Fenris’ mouth, back arching as a hot, powerful want blooms to life. The shock of it breaks their kiss, and Sophie shudders, gasping for air. Fenris pants against her neck, his weight pressed to her side, a hard solid lump digging insistently against her thigh.

Eyes closed, Sophie licks her lips, turning her face towards his and Fenris rests his forehead to hers, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He huffs gently, fingers grazing her lips and Sophie cracks open one eye enough to see his smile.

“Beautiful. All of you.” He leans up, kisses her brow. “You heart, your mind, your joy… I adore you.” Sophie’s heart leaps, tightening her throat and blocking any kind of reply. Instead she scowls at Fenris, pushes herself up to kiss him once more, firm and lingering.

“I adore you too, you dork.” She says, words a rough rasp and Fenris smiles. A gentle wuff comes from beside them, Maze sitting, smiling her doggy smile and waiting for their attention. Sophie giggles, wiggling up “I adore you too, bubba, come here.” She says and Maze barks, charging forward. The dog wiggles between them, frantically licking their faces. Sophie laughs, squirming out of the way and Fenris too as the dog bears him down onto the grass, licking delightedly at his face.

“What are you two up to?” Varric’s voice breaks the air and Maze barks, bolting up the hill towards the dwarf. “Aw, shit. Good dog, good dog! No jumping!”

Sophie holds her tummy, laughing so hard she can barely breath as Fenris sits up, wiping slobber from his face. They watch Maze dart around Varric trying to lick his face without jumping. It’s surprisingly difficult despite the similarities in height, the dwarf showing his speed and grace as he side steps and spins.

“Should I rescue him?” Sophie asks, as Fenris adjusts himself, pulling at his legging suntil his tunic covers any sign of arousal. He shakes his head, a rich blush covering his cheeks and ears.

“Vix-Vixen! A little help?” Varric shouts and Sophie laughs.

“Mazikeen, off!” she shouts and Maze wuffs gently and darts away from Varric, trotting back pleased as can be. “Little shit.” Sophie says, turning to collect her things, the new sash and comb included, Fenris taking the cups and pots from her hands with a shy sweet smile.

Coming down the hill, Varric mutters, swearing. “The thanks I get. I was coming to make sure you two wouldn’t miss dinner and this is what I get? Wolf slobber.” Maze gives him a grin, pink tongue lolling out of her jaws.

“I mean, she’s only part wolf.” Sophie says standing on wobbly legs, cheeks blushing pink as Fenris steps past her with a lingering glance that she almost feels on her skin. “And hey, that means Maze likes you, doesn’t it Maze?”

“Wuff,” Maze says, tail beating against the grass and Sophie pats her big head. She was going to be huge when she was done growing, already double the size if not more than what she was when Sophie first met her. Maybe she’d end up like that great black hound they called Holt, head near to her shoulders.

“She can like me as much as she likes. She doesn’t get to drool on me.” Varric answers, eyeing Sophie and Fenris with a sly grin.

“Just for that she’s gonna drool on you,” Sophie says, stepping past him and startin up the hill, Maze in stride and Fenris on the other side. “Contrary little thing she is.”

“She’d better not.” Varric grumbles.

They spend a week at the Crossroads split into little groups by day, sharing firelight and conversation by night. Kaif brings Sophie for hunts, ram for the villagers, bears for the fur. It’s foul bloody work but practical and she’s doing _something._ It’s enough. It’s good. And in the dark there’s Fenris, his lips and hands and his gentle words, his arms holding her in sleep.

At the weeks end comes the letters carried by ravens. An invitation from Alexius. Warnings from the Advisors still at Haven. Kaif’s face gains a hard edge as she reads and Sophie’s stomach plummets.

An evening comes when she beckons for the attention of all.

“Prepare yourselves. We’re going into the beast’s den.”

⧫

Anxiety bubbles in Fenris’ belly as he looks over his armour, checking for breaks, weakness, any damage he may have missed. Returning to Redcliffe, facing a Magister in the keep, unknown magics at play, to push and pull time. But it is not himself he fears for.

Sophie sits, brows drawn as she examines freshly fletched arrows, turning them between her fingers as she sights along their length. She bears her worry well, turning it to purpose and care for her gear. Even the deadly weapon she calls a gun. She eyes it next, worrying her full bottom lip.

“Do you know how to use it?” Fenris asks and she starts, giving him a reproachful look.

“I…” She sighs, rubbing the space between her brows. “I learned but years ago. It’s been a long while since I’ve tried.” She picks up one of the small ‘rounds’, copper in brass glinting in the light of her heatless torch. “I should leave it. Until I find someone that is better trained and practiced, but how do I know I can trust them?” She drops it with it’s fellows.

“Is it so dangerous?” Fenris asks slowly, laying his gauntlets to the side. Sophie’s lips quirk into a humourless smile.

“Like Varric’s crossbow but so much smaller and worse.” She murmurs, eyeing the shape so foreign amongst her arrows. “Point and pull the trigger.” Fenris’ stomach twists as he considers.

“Then leave it behind,” He says gently, reaching for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Unless you feel it could help.” Sophie lifts his hand, presses her lips over his knuckles, every kiss sending a bright spark through the marks along his skin.

“Worse case scenario…” She sighs, her exhale making him shiver with warmth. “It might help. I don’t like guns, but gods, maybe…” Fenris squeezes her fingers in his.

“I am not an unbiased advisor.” He says, voice gentle. “Decide tomorrow.” Tugging gently, he pulls Sophie into his arms, tucking her soft form against his as he settles her between his legs. He breathes in the scent of her hair, and Sophie lifts her face, lips grazing his chin.

“Will you be alright?” She asks and Fenris can’t help his smile. He looks down at her, meeting her lovely eyes, like polished iron, the clouds of a storm, her brown hair agleam in the torchlight.

“With you beside me,” Fenris says. “I could face death itself.”

**[[Trigger warning for death, blood and well…. It’s Redcliffe.]**

In the dark future, Fenris’ life bleeds onto the cold stone. Leliana’s voice echoes, voices shout but his world lies against a broken pillar, her loud and terrible weapon tumbled from her hand. The sound of it still rings in his ears, a high ringing deafened only by the rasp of his breathing. Digging his fingers into the stone, more crystalline than flesh, Fenris drags his ruined body across the floor, chipping fragments of cursed red lyrium that protrudes from his skin.

He knew this would come. There will be no joyful endings. Not with Sophie’s mind slipped free, falling out of his reach and him, half a monster as he always feared he would be. Oh but she never saw him that way. Of course not. Not her.

Gritting his teeth, Fenris pulls himself over a body, and finally reaches her side.

Sophie’s breaths come shallow and fast, but the blood from her wounds come slow. Her eyes fall on him and she tries to smile, a bloodied broken thing.

“F-Fenris… Liebe…” She breathes, reaching for him and he puts himself in her hands, leans over her, shielding her last moments from anyone but him. A spike of steel just from her chest, the edge of the wound frothing.

“Sophie.” They come together as they always have, his lips are chapped, hers slick with blood. “Rest,” He says and kisses her again. Her last breath passes to him and he lets himself fall…

**[TW end.]**

Fenris closes his eyes against the blinding flash of green. Alexius wails, falling to his knees.

“No! You’ve ruined it! You…” He slumps. Fenris shakes his head, trying to clear his vision. Something… just happened. Blinking, he backs away from the group, panic rising in his chest. Sophie? Where is she?

He turns and she is there, clutching her chest, pale and shaking. Her eyes meet his, wet with tears and that hurts enough. He reaches and her hand finds his.

“Something…” She murmurs and he scans, looking. There. A doorway. More voices, a man’s, Ferelden and oddly familiar barks orders. They are not needed for this.

“Come.”

With her tucked to his side, they make their escape, out of the dank keep and into the brightness of day. Outside the sunlight is a balm, the air cool and clear despite the city smells. Here Fenris sucks in the air, letting Sophie go as she runs a few steps and collapses against a low wall, Mazikeen whining against her legs. He follows and when he is close enough, Sophie rises, turns to slip her arms around him.

Fenris trembles, bowing his head to her shoulder. She still smells of their soap, scented with rosemary and autumn blooms.

“Thank you.” He says. Her arms gently squeeze him.

“For what?” She asks. Her breath tickles his ear and it twitches. He smiles.

“This.” His lips find her skin just above her collar. “You.”

She breathes a laugh. “S’okay.” She strokes her hands down his back, her lips drop a kiss against his hair. “I needed this too. Something happened… Whatever the fuck it was…”

“Something.” Fenris agrees. Or did it? A green flash, and Kaif and Dorian were… No. They never moved. Did they? He grunts, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. A headache is building. Footsteps crunch on the gravel, one pair pacing close and Maze gently wuffs. Fenris lifts his head.

A man crouches by the hound, tawny brown hair bright in the sunlight, his broad and friendly looking face pulled into a smile. A pair of guards linger by the stairs, bearing the heraldry of Fereldan’s king. Fenris stiffens.

“Sorry!” The man cheerfully waves and gestures to Maze. “She just reminded me of a hound I knew once. I wondered if I could say hello. Haven’t seen a mountain bred mabari in years.”

“Oh, that’s… okay?” Sophie says, leaning back, eyeing the stranger with no canny gleam. She doesn’t recognise him. Or the colours on his guards. “Maze, be nice.” Mazikeen wuffs, tail wagging and shoves her head at King Alistair Therin’s hands and he laughs, ruffling her fur.

“How old is she?” He asks and for a moment, Fenris thinks he misheard. This… cannot be happening.

“Almost a year, I think.” Sophie continues. “She’s not done growing.”

“Oh definitely not.” Alistair agrees, eyeing Maze, who leans into his attentions with glee. “Look at her paws. She’s going to be immense. Are those wolf eyes I see? Hey?” He turns this last to Maze herself and the hound barks cheerfully. “I heard there’s a farm that has a little wolf in their hounds. Somewhere in the Frostbacks?” He looks up at them and blinks. “Oh, Maker’s breath, forgive me.” He rises. “You’re members of the Inquisition are you not?”

“We are.” Fenris says, voice strained and Sophie gives him a curious look.

“Yes, well… I wish I had a better chance to meet with you, instead of these circumstances.”

A messenger in fine garb slips past the guards, clears his throat. “Your Majesty?”

Sophie makes an odd choking sound as the King turns away, looking at Fenris with wide eyes. “Is that-?”

“Yes.” Fenris answers, voice low.

“He’s just-”

“I know.” Fenris finds her hand, squeezes it as Alistair dismisses his messenger and gives the pair a softer smile.

“I don’t get to be anything but a king for very long. I hope you don’t mind…” Sophie shakes her head. “Alistair Therin. And you are… Fenris, friend to the Champion of Kirkwall and Sophie Adler. Woman from a rift. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Us?” Sophie asks.

“Well, the Inquisition has been doing a lot of good in my Kingdom. Seemed right to know who was responsible.” Alistair inclined his head. “Now uh… could you pass a message onto the Herald? Tell her I am thankful for her work. All of it. I’ll send a formal missive in the future, but until then, she has my gratitude. All of you do.” He bends his head again and Fenris bends into a bow. Sophie however remains stiff a moment longer before dipping into a stiff backed curtsey.

Alistair smiles, warm and sincere and terribly appealing, and pats Mazikeen again.

“Safe travels. Look after your mistress.” He says and turns away, striding off with his guards in tow, swiftly exiting the square.

Sophie sways a little. “King.” She says flatly.

“Yes.”

“Hero of Ferelden.”

“You’ve been learning history.” Fenris says, surprised.

“History nerd.” Sophie answers, still staring. “That was a King. Patting my dog.”

“Wuff.” Mazikeen supplies and grins, looking pleased.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asks and Sophie wobbles her hand in the air. He scoffs, tugging her back into his embrace. “Breathe, Sophie.”

“Breathing.” She giggles over the sound of opening doors. Kaif leads the way, down the steps followed by the rest. Varric makes a line towards them, rubbing his face.

“Wondered where you two went.” He mutters. “That was fucking weird.” Sophie giggles again. Stalker’s bringing the mages with us since the King’s kicked them all out.” Sophie smothers another giggle behind her hand. Varric shoots her a sharp look and Fenris starts to smile. “What did I miss?”

“We met the king.” Sophie says, grinning up at Fenris and his shoulders start to shake. “He wanted to pat Maze.”

“He wot?” Sera asks, leaning over Varric’s shoulder. “Seriously?” Something gives and laughter bursts from Fenris and Sophie follows suit, a cackle ringing out as they clutch at each other.

Varric blinks at them and groans. “I need a drink. I _need_ a drink.”

“I could use one too.” Sophie says and pulls Fenris into a walk. “After the boss! Come on, Maze!”

Kaif’s expression is dark as she steps onto the gravel path, only a brief smirk as she greets them. “We’re going back to Haven. I want this done.”

There’s little chance to speak with the others as they pack their things and ride west and north. The gloom that follows them fades slowly, and each night it gets a little easier to sleep without thinking of what may have been if Alexius’ plan had worked.

It helps of course that he now wakes to Sophie, her face slack in sleep, her breath slow and deep. He cherishes those quiet moments, the slow opening of her eyes, the little smile that forms when she sees him, the soft, barely awake kiss she presses to the corner of his mouth.

No one makes any comments, nothing smug or distasteful at least. Bull and Blackwall bring him into a discussion on different ores for their weapons, Fenris chuckling over Bull’s preference for dawn stone. Because it’s pretty. Sera only tries to prank him once, but Maze sniffs out the fennec fox in his bag and chases it out of the camp. Varric further endears himself to Sophie, sharing stories meant to flatter Fenris in her eyes until she threatened to kiss Fenris loudly right next to him.

“Oh, you’re just mean.” Varric says, leaving Sophie to laugh.

Fenris smiles warmly, watching her tease the dwarf with kissy noises. Beside him, Cassandra sighs.

“Something the matter?” He asks.

“Oh? No. Nothing is-” She clears her throat, flushing under his stare. “It is silly. I am happy for the two of you. Truly. It’s… fortunate to find such joy in times of discord. “ Cassandra glances at him shyly. “And if I may say, terribly romantic.”

Fenris lets out a slow breath, his cheeks burning. “I would not call it such. It is simply us.”

“Oh but it is! From two worlds, brought together by mysterious circumstances, travelling together facing angers in the search for answers.” Cassandra sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds like something from a tale. I would never have believed it had I not seen the two of you.”

“You forgot ‘former slave rescuing her from slavers’.” Fenris deadpans and gives Cassandra a smile. “You are very flattering. Though perhaps you read too much romance.”

Cassandra chuckles, blushing darker. “It is an escape.”

“As all good stories are.” Fenris says and they share a smile

“You know,” Dorian starts the next day, as his horse trots into place on Sophie’s left. “I was rather surprised to see someone from a rift with magic.”

“Didn’t think to have magic.” Sophie answers, casting Fenris an amused look. It’s comforting enough that he’s content to keep his distance.

“As I’ve heard.” At Sophie’s surprise, Dorian shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve met one other. An older fellow, white haired, could barely understand a word he said.”

“Might not be speaking common.” Sophie answers and Dorian smirks.

“I did think so. Apparently he’s from Scotland, and the only magic he knows of comes from… what did he say? ‘Reprobrate bastard’s with twirly shite on their faces, and the fuckin’ fair folk’.” Dorian says, rolling the words until they come much like Sebastian’s, with considerably less clarity. Sophie snorts, smothering a laugh.

“Yeah, sounds Scottish. He’s not wrong.” Sophie says, voice low and darkly amused. Dorian smirks.

“I understand.” He says soft enough Now I know who your paramore is, I understand his ire entirely.”

“Do you?” Sophie’s voice is like a trap, waiting for the mouse. Fenris smiles to himself.

“I know what was done to him. It was… Is abominable.” Dorian says.

“And do you keep slaves?” Sophie asks, metal jaws stretching wider.

“My family does. I have none with me.”

“So yes.”

“They do not suffer.” Dorian says and Sophie barks a sound, a sharp loud scoff like the snapping of metal teeth.

“They’re slaves. They’re property, not people. No matter your apparent kindness, you own them.” She spits venomously. “Think on that, Pavus.” Sophie urges her horse forward, riding past Fenris to slow at the head of the column beside Kaif. How he adores her.

“That was rather mean.” Fenris whispers in her ear. The sun sets, camp is made and Sophie is wet from bathing, barely dressed in a fresher tunic.

“He owns people.” Sophie answers, scrubbing fingers through his still wet hair. He’s bathed himself, scrubbed travel and sweat from his skin, the dampness chilly in the evening air. “Or his family owns people. Whatever. Maybe I should be nice and try to change his mind but right now?” Sophie shakes her head and kisses his cheek.

“You were politer than I.” Fenris says pressing a kiss in return to her lips. He takes her hand, his dirty clothes and bathing kit in his other hand.

“Bah. I feel mean.” Sophie says, kicking at a rock along the path they found to the swift stream from camp.

“You were. But I am hardly kinder. He knows who I am. Now he knows you have teeth as well.”

Sophie snorts. “Kaif gave me a talking to. She kept smiling though.”

“I was too.” Fenris says and bumps his shoulder against hers before they turn a final tree to find Bull perched on an old log.

“Nice wash?” He asks, eye gliding over them for an appreciative moment before lifting to their faces and staying there.

“Cold.” Sophie answers with a smile. “Plenty left you you, big lad.” She taps his bare shoulder and Bull chuckles, throwing Fenris a grin.

“Ah, may as well.” Bull grunts as he stands, leaning his weight on one leg. He catches Fenris looking and ‘winks’ his one eye before striding past, whistling cheerfully.

“He was perving on you.” Sophie says, sing-song, sticking her tongue at Fenris. He groans, rolling his eyes.

“Both of us, actually.” Fenris says pulling at his tunic as they step into camp.

Dinner is a simple thing, vegetables and restored meat cooked into a herb rich pottage. Fenris plays cards with Blackwall, Solas, and Varric, manages to keep his tongue when Dorian joins.

And at night, oh, that night he dreams. Not the flickering nightmares that chased him from Redcliffe but something better. Sophie in the evening sunlight, half bare in wet linen. She kisses him, cradles his face, holds him and he lays her on soft grass. It’s a half imagined thing, lips and hands and maker, he wakes, achingly hard. Sophie is crouched by the tent flaps, lacing up her boots. She smiles and it’s blinding.

“Hey you. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Fenris licks his lips. He was just kissing her? No… A dream. He shakes his head and Sophie hums. She crawls back to him, and his hardened length twitches. Blinking, eyes bleary, Fenris pushes himself up enough for her kiss.

“Watch?”He asks, voice raspy.

“Yeah. Sleep, Fen.” She says and is gone, Maze slipping after her. Fenris sighs, flopping back, listening to Sophie’s voice muffled by the canvas, her footsteps fading away. Somewhere Varric snores, another rumble in harmony that must be the Iron Bull. All else is quiet save the pounding of his blood in Fenris’ ears. He sees Sophie from his dream, feels the phantom of her breath against his skin and his cock twitches again.

“Vishante kaffas…” He mutters and fumbles with his trousers. He hasn’t taken himself in hand in many months, certainly not while travelling with Sophie. His desire is far more lively than it once was, and he can will most things away… But _Sophie._ He imagines her lips on his, her warmth at his side as he slips his hand over his length. The first touch is electric and he bites back a groan as he strokes himself, firm and then light and teasing. It’s hers and his and her lips are against his neck and Fenris twists his grip around the head. He wants to wait as much as he wants her. And Maker, he _wants her._

Pleasure coils low in his belly, he thinks of her teeth on his lower lip, the weight of her in his lap. Her hand on his shoulders, the other stroking and cupping, her breath hot against his ear. She whispers his name, gives him that smile, eyes alight with mischief, with adoration. What would he do if he gave himself to her?

Fenris bites down another groan, toes curling. Would she take him in her mouth? Lay him back and ride him? Pulling him on top, let him lead? He’d kiss every inch, lay his hands and mouth on her full breasts until she writhes.

Bucking into his hand, Fenris licks his lips. He’d taste her, her thighs on his shoulders, use his strength to hold her still. Whatever she wants. Whatever she will give. Even if she never gives more than her heart, her lips to his… _Sophie_.

His cock throbs. Fenris grunts, hot, heady pleasure rocking through him, his seed spilling into his hands. Chest heaving, Fenris lays his head back, savours the boneless feeling while it lasts.

When his breathing steadies, he cleans himself, tucks his softening member back into his trousers and sinks into a deep, relaxed sleep.

In the morning, he wakes to Sophie, to her gentle kiss and her smiling face and Fenris feels his heart ache with something more than simple adoration.

Maker help him. He’s in _love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And he is so screwed.


End file.
